GUINEA    GOLD 


GUINEA    GOLD 


BY 

BEATRICE   GRIMSHAW 

AUTHOR   OF    "WHEN   THE   RED   GODS   CALL"   ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

1912 


<? 


/  / 


£$5 


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Copyright,  1912,  by 

BEATRICE  GRIMSHAW 

All  Rights  Reserved 


GUINEA  GOLD 

CHAPTER  I 

Three  men  sat  upon  the  coral  shore  of  Samarai, 
and  talked  about  a  fourth. 

Their  six  boots — four  heavy  and  nailed,  two  light 
brown  leather  the  worse  for  wear — projected  over 
the  glaring,  flour-white  sand,  and  tinkled  among  the 
broken  branches  and  fans  of  coral  and  the  derelict 
shells  from  the  reef.  Pink  and  pearl  and  cream, 
thick  as  carved  white  marble,  and  as  thin  as  East- 
ern porcelain,  were  these  shells:  strangers  admired 
them,  and  went  a-hunting  for  them  on  steamer 
days.  But,  when  they  had  their  hands  full,  they 
generally  threw  the  fruit  of  their  toil  back  into  the 
sea.  The  shells  looked  well,  nevertheless,  they  were 
dead,  and  you  could  see  it  when  you  handled  them. 
Dead  shells  are  those  that  have  had  the  life  and 
value  burned  out  of  them  by  tropic  suns  on  far-off 
savage  shores.  They  are  of  no  use  to  anyone;  you 
can  only  leave  them  on  the  beach,  to  rot  in  the  de- 
vouring sun,  and  end  their  lives  where  they  were 
cast  away.  There  are  many  kinds  of  dead  shells  to 
be  found  on  the  coral  beaches,  south  of  Cancer  and 
north  of  Capricorn,  and  not  all  of  them  own  the  sea 
as  their  home. 


2     ;  GUINEA  GOLD 

The  man  with  the  brown  boots  was  not  pleasant- 
looking:  he  had  only  one  advantage,  that  of  youth. 
He  could  not  have  been  more  than  twenty-five  years 
of  age;  perhaps  he  was  less.  His  face  was  fat,  flat, 
and  full,  with  a  disagreeably  small  mouth,  and  pale 
blue  eyes,  somewhat  too  large  for  a  man.  The  two 
other  men  were  browned  and  toughened  with  sun: 
his  skin  was  as  white  as  a  toadstool's,  and  his  hands 
were  soft  and  dimpled.  The  man  looked  damp  and 
soft  altogether;  one  felt  certain  that  he  would 
squash  as  flat  as  a  spider  if  you  trod  upon  him. 

The  others  were  of  a  different  stamp  from  him 
and  from  one  another.  The  person  with  the  long, 
narrow  face,  and  yellow  walrus-like  moustache,  is 
Rupert  Dence :  you  will  hear  more  of  him  by  and  by. 
He  wears  his  clothes  well,  though  they  consist,  to- 
day, of  nothing  but  a  woollen  singlet,  a  battered 
drill  coat,  and  a  pair  of  khaki  trousers.  His  walrus 
moustache,  his  manner  of  looking  and  speaking,  and 
a  certain  suggestion  of  an  invisible  single  eyeglass 
somewhere,  conveyed  one  knows  not  exactly  how, 
create  a  -dim  mirage  of  London  in  the  nineties  about 
his  neighbourhood.  One  feels  that  his  clock  of  life, 
like  the  too-familiar  clock  of  the  old  street  song, 
u  stopped  short,  never  to  go  again,"  in  London,  in 
eighteen-ninety  something,  for  some  reason  that 
Rupert  Dence  might  give  you,  if  you  asked  for  it — 
and  might  not.  Again,  if  you  asked  him,  he  might 
tell  you  that  his  name  is  not  Dence  at  all,  but  some- 
thing of  the  picture-poster  kind:  the  sort  of  name 


GUINEA  GOLD  3 

commonly  chosen  by  Violets  and  Maries  of  the 
Palace  or  the  Gaiety,  to  look  well  upon  the  bills. 
But  he  would  not  go  further,  no  matter  how  drunk 
he  might  be. 

Joe  Anderson  (christened  John,  but,  for  obvious 
reasons,  always  known  as  Joe)  has  an  odd  resem- 
blance to  Rupert  Dence.  You  could  not  possibly 
tell  where  the  resemblance  lies,  for  Anderson  has 
not  a  point  or  a  feature  in  common  with  the  other, 
being  huge,  square,  stiff,  and  strong,  with  a  massive 
brown  beard  and  a  face  that  looks  as  if  you  could 
turn  the  edge  of  an  axe  on  its  surface.  But  the  re- 
semblance is  there.  More,  you  can  tell  by  their  very 
way  of  sitting  and  speaking  that  they  like  one  an- 
other, and  have  something  in  common.  You  can 
also  tell  that  the  third  man,  Clay,  is  not  one  of  them, 
and  that  they  are  not  going  to  ask  him  to  join 
them  when  they  detach  themselves  from  the  cool 
shade  of  the  casuarina  tree  under  which  they  are 
sitting,  and  trickle  away  down  the  beach  into  the 
bar  of  Figg's  Federal  Hotel.  But  they  are  inter- 
ested in  what  he  is  saying. 

He  had  been  talking  with  a  certain  slow  volubility, 
for  three  or  four  minutes  on  end,  when  Dence 
broke  in. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Clay,  but  I  don't  quite 
understand.  What  makes  you  think  that  he  carries 
a  paper  actually  under  his  clothes?  " 

"  That's  my  affair,"  replied  Clay,  with  a  small 
giggle.     "  I  don't  think  it  either — I  know  it.     And 


4  GUINEA  GOLD 

if  it  hasn't  something  to  do  with  the  Kikiramu  gold- 
field,  I'll  eat  it" 

The  man  Joe  Anderson  let  himself  slide  down 
the  warm  sand  until  his  head  rested  against  the  root 
of  the  casuarina  tree.  Then  he  put  his  hands  under 
his  neck  and  yawned  deliberately. 

"  Cut  it:  you've  been  reading  too  many  penny 
stories,"  he  said.  "  This  isn't  a  pirate's  island  in 
the  Caribbean  Sea,  in  the  eighteenth  century:  it's 
Papua  in  the  twentieth.  Besides,  what  would  a 
raw  new  chum  know  about  the  Kikiramu,  anyhow?  " 

"  I'm  not  telling  you  what  he  ought  to  know,  I'm 
telling  you  what  he  does,"  persisted  Clay.  "  Ander- 
son, you  might  pay  more  attention.  I'm  putting  you 
and  Dence  on  to  a  good  thing,  and  you'll  scarcely 
listen." 

"  You  must  pardon  us,  Mr.  Clay,"  put  in  Rupert 
Dence,  with  an  accent  on  the  Mr.  that  apparently 
passed  unnoticed.  "  So  far  all  we've  heard  is  that  a 
certain  fellow  called  Scott,  who  got  off  the  Matunga 
yesterday,  carries  a  paper  next  his  heart.  No  doubt 
that  concerns  Mr.  Scott's  best  girl  pretty  nearly,  but 
it  hardly  seems  to  '  hit  us  where  we  live.'  If  that's 
all " 

"  It's  not,"  interrupted  Clay,  who  rarely  let  any- 
one finish  a  sentence.  "  This  Scott  was  asking  ques- 
tions about  the  Kikiramu  goldfield  an  hour  or  two 
after  he  arrived.  And  he  said  he  would  like  to  meet 
some  of  the  miners.  As  to  the  paper,  what  I'm  tell- 
ing you  is  gospel  truth.     You  may  trust  me  to  see 


GUINEA  GOLD  5 

farther  into  a  stone  wall  than  most  people.  I  think 
I  may  fairly  claim  for  myself  that  I  always  was 
sharper  than  the  next  man.  I  believe  I'm  speaking 
the  absolute  truth  when  I  tell  you  that  this  Scott 
has  some  special  information  about  the  Kikiramu, 
and  I  think  it's  up  to  you  to  help  me  to  find  out. 
I'm  not  a  miner;  you  are.  Where  I  fail  you  can 
come  in.  I  always  know  my  own  limitations,  I  can 
assure  you." 

"  Oh,  blow  your  limitations!  "  interjected  Ander- 
son, getting  up.  "  Dence,  come  on,  and  leave  this 
lunatic  to  rave  alone." 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  said  Dence,  fixing  Clay  with  his 
invisible  eyeglass,  and  caressing  his  long  moustache, 
till  he  looked  like  an  early  Du  Maurier  caricature. 
"  You  didn't  say  how  you  saw  this  precious  paper, 
or  what  makes  you  think  it  is  anything  about 
gold." 

"  Well,"  declared  Clay  with  some  bravado, 
"  when  they  put  you  two  in  a  room  in  a  place  like 
Figg's,  and  a  fellow  flings  about  in  his  sleep  in  the 
other  bed,  you  can't  help  seeing  the  outline  of  a 
flat  packet.  And  I  came  in — I  can  assure  you  it  was 
accidental — this  morning  after  I  had  had  breakfast, 
and  found  Scott  with  a  paper  spread  out  on  the 
dressing-table — a  map,  I'm  willing  to  swear — I  saw 
it  over " 

"  Shut  up !  "  growled  Dence.  "  That's  the  fel- 
low, isn't  i'?  " 

A  man  was  coming  towards  the  three  on  the 


6  GUINEA  GOLD 

beach.  He  had  evidently  been  walking  round  the 
island.  Samarai,  the  island  town  of  New  Guinea, 
is  said  by  a  good  many  far-travelled  people  to  be 
the  most  beautiful  place  in  the  world.  The  stranger 
looked  as  if  he  thought  so:  he  was  tramping  along 
the  white  coral  path  slowly,  between  the  high 
hedges  of  carmine-  and  daffodil-leaved  croton  trees, 
staring  with  all  his  eyes.  Celadon  green  was  the 
shoal  water  of  the  strait  in  front;  peacock-breast 
blue  the  wider  stretch  beyond.  Islands  like  bouquets 
of  palm  set  in  holders  of  pearl  sprang  out  of  the 
glass-stilf  water.  A  long  way  off,  on  the  other  side, 
dark  mountains  draped  in  forest  rose  straight  from 
the  sea,  forbidding,  secret,  grim. 

11  That's  .  .  .  Papua, "  said  the  unromantic- 
looking  Anderson,  following  the  stranger's  eyes. 
"  Something  beautiful — and  something  black  be- 
hind it." 

u  Yes,  certainly,  that's  Papua,"  agreed  the  Eng- 
lishman, Dence.  "  Smiles  at  you  like  a  cannibal 
queen  in  love  with  you,  and  then  biffs  you  over  the 
head  with  a  tomahawk  first  chance  she  gets." 

The  steamer  passenger,  Scott,  had  strolled  past 
by  this  time,  still  looking  at  the  wonderful  pano- 
rama of  the  straits.  Clay,  getting  impatient,  dug 
Anderson  with  one  finger  in  the  ribs. 

"  That's  him,"  he  said.  "  Well,  are  you  going 
to  help  me  to  find  out  what  good  thing  he's  got  hold 
of  when  you  go  up  to  the  Kikiramu  again,  or  are 
you  not?     I'm  stuck  in  this  beastly  store  of  King's, 


GUINEA  GOLD  7 

and  can't  afford  to  leave  it,  or  I'd  have  kept  it  to 
myself.     I  always " 

"  Damn  you  and  your  always,"  said  Anderson, 
quite  politely.  "  Dence,  take  me  off  for  a  walk 
round  the  island,  before  I  forget  my  naturally  re- 
fined manners,  and  chuck — that — into  the  sea." 

"  You  haven't  listened,"  expostulated  Clay. 
"  You  won't " 

"  We've  listened  enough  to  know  that  you  were 
as  near  pick-pocketing  as  circumstances  would  let 
you.  We  don't  want  any  more.  You've  got  a  rat, 
anyhow.  A  man  can't  bring  a  map  of  the  country 
up  but  you  think  you've  hit  another  Treasure  Island. 
Go  and  put  your  head  in  a  bag,  and  when  you've 
got  your  head  in,  put  yourself  after  it,  get  some 
good  friend  to  tie  up  the  mouth,  and  chuck  yourself 
off  the  jetty  when  there's  a  big  shark  in  the 
neighbourhood.  You'd  be  doing  the  public  a 
service." 

The  two  walked  away  and  left  Clay  on  the  shore 
regarding  his  shabby  boots  with  a  vicious  eye. 
Australians  wear  better  boots,  class  for  class,  than 
English,  and  this  fragment  of  scum,  skimmed  from 
Sydney  gutters,  always  felt  the  injustice  of  Nature 
with  especial  keenness  when  he  looked  at  his  poorly 
shod  feet.  They  were  narrow,  arched  feet  that, 
like  his  small  hands,  spoke  of  submerged  "  family." 
New  South  Wales  is  full  of  such  men:  prodigal 
sons  packed  off  so  freely  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  in 
the  last  generation  or  two,  left  descendants,  acknowl- 


8  GUINEA  GOLD 

edged  and  unacknowledged,  that  scarce  adorn  the 
country  of  their  birth. 

In  the  meantime,  George  Scott,  electrical  engi- 
neer of  Belfast,  finished  his  walk  round  the  island, 
quite  unconscious  of  the  "  storm  in  a  billy-can  "  that 
had  arisen  about  his  steps,  and  returned  to  his 
hotel,  which,  as  Clay  had  explained,  was  Figg's. 

There  are  four  hotels  in  Samarai, — the  Universal, 
Bunn's,  the  Old  New  Guinea,  and  Figg's  Federal. 
The  three  first  are  not  precisely  replicas  of  the  Cecil 
or  the  Langham,  but  Figg's  is  worse.  It  is,  so  the 
white  men  of  Papua  say,  the  worst  hotel  in  the 
world.  And  they  ought  to  know,  because  the  in- 
habitants of  Papua  know  more  about  odd  corners 
of  the  earth  than  the  people  of  any  other  tropical 
colony  you  could  mention. 

Figg  and  Mrs.  Figg  are  obliging  and  kindly  peo- 
ple, and  they  do  their  best  to  make  their  guests 
happy.  The  native  boys  are  told  to  wash  out  the 
rooms  every  rainy  season,  and  they  do.  If  anyone 
objects  to  use  the  sheets  that  the  last  lodger  had,  he 
can  generally  get  fresh  ones.  You  are  allowed  to 
choose  the  company  in  your  bedroom  as  far  as  is 
conveniently  possible,  and  if  your  room-mates  get 
intoxicated  every  night,  and  keep  you  awake,  no 
one  minds  your  camping,  trunks  and  bed  and  all,  on 
the  verandah.  It  is  related  of  Mrs.  Figg  that  her 
desire  to  make  the  most  of  a  rare  real  fowl  caused 
her,  once  on  a  time,  to  salvage  the  creature's  limbs 
from  the  plates  whereon  they  had  been  stripped,  and 


GUINEA  GOLD  9 

serve  them  up  again  in  a  stew,  and  afterwards  (via 
the  plates  again)  in  various  soups,  until  certain 
boarders  of  the  baser  sort  complained.  But  she  un- 
doubtedly meant  well.  And  when  the  guests  at  her 
table  complained  that  the  Kiwai  waiter  was  suffer- 
ing from  native  skin  disease  unpleasant  to  the  eye, 
Mrs.  Figg  at  once  gave  orders  that  he  was  to  remain 
henceforward  entirely  in  the  kitchen  and  help  the 
cook.  More,  when  a  steamer  passenger  new  to 
Samarai  objected  to  the  serving  of  jams  undecanted 
from  the  tin,  did  not  Mrs.  Figg  denude  her  own 
dressing-table  of  every  pomade  pot  and  hairpin  case 
it  contained,  and  adorn  the  board  with  these  valu- 
able personal  possessions?  That  some  of  the  cus- 
tomers took  exception  to  the  appearance  of  hair- 
pins, buttons,  and  stray  teeth  of  combs,  in  the 
ultimate  conclusion  of  pots  of  marmalade  and  rasp- 
berry, only  serves  to  illustrate  the  ingratitude  of 
human  nature  in  the  rough. 

George  Scott,  who  did  not  know  much  of  any 
country  save  his  own,  and  had  the  North-of-Ire- 
lander's  hatred  of  muddle  and  uncleanliness,  did  not 
take  Figg's  in  the  humorous  style  which  was  the  only 
way  to  accept  it.  He  had  come  straight  out  from 
London  to  Papua,  with  only  a  call  or  two  for  coal- 
ing, in  a  cargo  boat  that  had  been  bought  by  a 
trading  company  for  working  the  New  Guinea 
coasts.  Missing,  in  this  manner,  the  magnificent 
procession  of  all  the  wonders  of  the  kingdoms  of 
the  earth,  enjoyed  by  the  traveller  who  takes  the 


io  GUINEA  GOLD 

recognised  Red  Sea  route,  and  stops  at  all  the  ports, 
Scott  came  upon  Papua  as  a  somewhat  unseasoned 
traveller.  The  scenery  was  certainly  beyond  any- 
thing he  had  ever  imagined,  but  he  did  not  think,  on 
the  whole,  it  made  up  for  the  eccentricities  of  the 
Federal.  However,  there  was  no  room  in  any  other 
hotel  at  the  time,  since  Samarai  was  just  then  en- 
joying a  wave  of  prosperity  caused  by  the  develop- 
ment of  a  new  goldfield:  in  fact,  he  saw  he  was 
lucky  to  have  secured  even  the  half  room  he  had  got. 

It  is  time  to  say  a  word  about  George  Scott.  If 
you  have  ever  visited  the  North  of  Ireland,  you 
have  met  many  men  a  little  like  him,  but  none  quite 
the  same — one  does  not  pick  George  Scotts  off  every 
family  tree.  He  had  the  tall  stature  of  the  Ulster- 
man;  his  eyes  were  Northern  grey,  his  features  well 
marked  and  almost  hard,  save  for  the  mouth,  which 
was  slightly  retreating  and  soft  in  outline.  You 
knew,  looking  at  that  delicate  mouth  forced  into 
firmness,  at  the  too-fine  and  silky  brown  hair,  at  the 
slight  stoop  of  the  broad  shoulders,  that  the  pro- 
fession of  George  Scott,  and  the  strength  of  George 
Scott,  and  the  existence  of  George  Scott  in  general, 
had  cost  a  big  struggle,  somewhere  and  somewhen. 

They  had.  A  lad  of  delicate  upbringing  and 
strength  none  too  great,  flung  at  seventeen  out  of  a 
luxurious  life  into  the  poverty  that  lurks  always 
underneath  the  splendour  of  mercantile  Belfast, 
George  Scott  had  gone  through  the  hell  that  only 
"  workmen  apprentices  "  of  his  kind  and  class  can 


GUINEA  GOLD  n 

know.  In  the  bitter  winter  days  he  had  risen  at  five 
o'clock  to  get  to  his  workshop  by  six:  had  gone 
short  of  food  and  of  fire,  while  his  half-grown 
frame  was  struggling  desperately  to  keep  up  with  the 
tale  of  crushing  labour  laid  upon  it:  had  trudged 
black-faced  and  overall-clad  through  streets  that 
used  to  see  him  in  hunting  kit,  riding  his  fine  Galway 
mare  to  the  meet  of  the  county  staghounds.  He  had 
worn  his  way,  he  never  knew  how,  afoot  through 
illnesses  that  would  have  sent  most  men  to  bed  for 
weeks:  had  been  always  tired  for  years,  always  short 
of  tobacco  and  tram  money,  generally  out  at  el- 
bows in  clothes.  He  had  had  more  than  his  share 
of  the  inevitable  cruel  accidents  of  a  foundry,  and 
had  not  been  able  to  lay  up  when  they  occurred. 
At  the  last  he  had  worked  through:  the  race  with 
poverty  and  sickness  was  won.  George  Scott  was 
a  man,  and  a  very  strong  one:  instead  of  a  box  of 
bones  in  the  Upper  Falls  burying-ground.  The 
workman  apprentice  life  of  Belfast  means  one  or 
other  to  most  gently  nurtured  lads. 

He  had  his  trade  now,  and  had  been  making  a 
living  at  it  for  some  years.  The  life  he  had  led  had 
not  coarsened  him:  not  one  of  the  oaths  that  had 
rained  about  him  like  fiery  hail  from  a  volcano  for 
four  long  years  clung  to  his  own  lips  now  that  he 
was  free.  He  was  temperate  and  well-living:  his 
manners  were  the  manners  of  the  class  in  which  he 
had  been  born  and  educated.  The  only  notable 
trace  of  those  cruel  early  years  left  upon  the  man 


12  GUINEA  GOLD 

of  twenty-eight  was  his  smile.  That  was  the  hard, 
bright  smile  of  one  who  has  made  himself  laugh  at 
hardship  for  so  long  that  he  cannot  drop  the  habit. 

Scott  smiled  a  great  deal.  The  man  to  whom  life 
has  come  easy,  glooms,  or  presents  a  mask  of  wax  to 
the  world.  It  costs  heart's  blood  to  learn  smiling  of 
that  particular  kind. 

Men  liked  Scott,  and  he  liked  most  people,  to  a 
certain  point.  You  had  to  know  him  a  good  while 
before  you  fully  understood  that  his  pleasant  man- 
ner and  his  frank  talk  masked  a  reserve  deep  and 
cold  as  the  grey-green  strait  of  Stranraer.  There 
was  a  woman  who  had  the  right  to  touch  the  bot- 
tom of  that  unplumbed  sea,  but  neither  she,  nor  any- 
one else,  had  ever  done  so.  Scott  was  one  of  the 
men  who  seldom  let  themselves  go. 

What,  then,  was  a  Belfast  engineer  doing  in  this 
galley — what  had  brought  Scott  to  Samarai?  His 
room-mate  had  some  notion:  no  one  else  on  the 
island  knew.  Mr.  Clay  had  not  told  quite  the  truth 
to  Dence  and  Anderson,  out  under  the  casuarina 
tree.  He  had  omitted  one  very  important  fact, 
which  was,  that  he  had  not  seen  the  paper  at  all,  but 
had  felt  it — with  his  hand  inside  Scott's  pyjamas, 
when  the  newcomer  was  asleep.  Clay  had  argued 
that  men  who  had  lived  in  the  North  of  Ireland 
all  their  lives  don't  wake  at  a  light  touch,  in  the 
heart  of  the  five  o'clock  slumber.  Men  who  had 
lived  in  places  like  Papua  do. 

The  Sydney  man  had  not  dared  to  pull  the  packet 


GUINEA  GOLD  13 

out,  but  with  his  thin  small  fingers  he  had  felt  it, 
until  he  was  satisfied  that  it  was  a  single  folded 
paper  in  a  sheet  of  oiled  silk — not  notes  or  gold. 
He  had  guessed  at  the  existence  immediately  Scott 
began  to  undress,  by  a  certain  awkwardness  the  lat- 
ter betrayed  in  taking  off  his  clothes.  As  to  the 
map,  well,  Scott  was  undoubtedly  tracing  something 
out  with  a  pencil  on  it,  a  route  to  something  or 
somewhere.  And  he  had  asked  Clay  if  the  boat  for 
the  Kikiramu  field  was  leaving  soon.  Clay's  em- 
ployers were  the  agents  for  the  little  coasting 
steamer,  so  the  question  was  natural  enough.  Also, 
it  was  natural  that  Scott  should  ask  if  there  were  any 
miners  in  Samarai.  But,  taking  all  these  circum- 
stances together,  Clay  thought  he  smelt  something 
interesting.  His  diplomacy  had  broken  short  off 
at  the  crucial  point,  as  it  generally  did.  Still,  that 
left  him  none  the  less  sure  that  he  was  right. 


CHAPTER  II 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Anderson,  setting  down  his 
glass  with  some  emphasis,  "  that  if  he  was  eaten, 
it  was  entirely  his  own  fault.  The  country's  as  safe 
as  Sydney  Botanical  Gardens — safer.  Pass  the 
pickles." 

"  They're  done,"  said  the  man  next  him,  a  grey- 
haired,  grey-bearded  old  fellow  in  a  black  flannel 
shirt.  "  Have  chutney.  As  to  his  being  eaten,  it 
wasn't  even  proved.  None  of  the  bones  was  split  to 
get  the  marrow  out.  As  likely  as  not  he  was  only 
knocked  on  the  head." 

u  Exactly,"  agreed  Anderson.  "  Making  a  fuss 
and  a  row  and  a  scandal  out  of  nothing,  as  usual. 
Those  Sydney  newspapers  ought  to  know  a  little 
better  this  time.  I've  always  said,  and  I  say  again, 
that  when  a  man  does  get  eaten,  it's  due  to  foolery 
of  one  kind  or  another.  It  never  ought  to  happen, 
and  never  does,  to  anyone  who  has  any  sense.  But 
to  hear  people  down  south  talk,  you'd  think  a  man 
couldn't  go  out  for  a  week  prospecting  without  get- 
ting spitted  on  a  stick  and  roasted  alive." 

"  There  wasn't  above  six  diggers  in  the  whole  of 
New  Guinea  that  that  ever  happened  to — at  least, 
that   it  was  proved  to   have  happened   to,"   com- 

14 


GUINEA  GOLD  15 

merited  the  old  man,  in  a  voice  somewhat  muffled 
with  tinned-meat  pie. 

"  Why,  Bodkin,"  put  in  Rupert  Dence  from  the 
other  side  of  the  table,  "  you  know  you  had  a  pretty 
narrow  escape  yourself." 

The  old  man  swallowed  his  mouthful  hastily,  put 
down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  half  rose  to  his 
feet. 

"  I  had  not,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  quivering  with 
anger.  "  Nothing  of  the  kind.  It's  a  lie — who  says 
so — who  dared  to  tell  you  anything  of  the  kind? 
You've  been  talking  to  tourists,  you  have — blank 
tourists.  A-aah,  New  Guinea's  ruined,  rotten 
ruined,  since  they  let  them  sort  come  nosing  about 
with  their  cameras  and  their  picture-books  and  their 
double-blank  nonsense,  talking  thrash !  " 

A  strong  South  of  Ireland  accent  was  beginning 
to  work  out  with  the  warmth  of  his  anger,  as  a 
worn  inscription  shows  up  on  heated  metal. 

"  It  was  not  thrue,  I  tell  ye.  It  was  nothing  at  all. 
Them  Orokivas,  years  and  years  ago,  I  will  not  deny 
it,  got  me  away  by  force  with  one  of  their  war 
parties,  and  kep'  me  in  the  village  for  a  couple  or 
three  days;  but  what  was  that?  Sure,  amn't  I  tell- 
ing you  I  got  away  all  right,  and,  moreover,  I 
recruited  nineteen  boys  out  of  that  same  village  not 
a  year  after." 

"  Come,  now,  Terry,  they  broke  all  your  arms  and 
legs,  and  left  you  in  a  stream  to  make  the  meat 
tender — you  know  they  did,"  teased  Anderson. 


o 


16  GUINEA  GOLD 

Bodkin,  who  had  taken  his  seat  again,  jumped  up 
once  more,  and  dashed  his  fork  on  the  cloth. 

"  May  the  divil  choke  ye,  Joe  Anderson,"  he  said, 
"  but  you  know  well  they  never  did.  I  won't  deny 
it's  their  custom;  but  what  was  it  they  done  on  me? 
broke  an  arm  accidental,  when  the  scrap  was  goin' 
on,  nothing  more,  if  I  was  to  die  to-morrow. 
Aren't  ye  ashamed  of  yourself,  to  be  givin'  up  your 
impudence  to  a  man  who's  done  with  the  fighting, 
and  can't  drive  your  ugly  alligator  eyes  out  of  your 
secon'-hand  doormat  head?" 

There  was  a  laugh  at  this,  for  Anderson's  eyes 
were  as  undeniably  green  as  his  hair  was  rudely 
luxuriant. 

"  Let  him  alone,  Joe,"  advised  Dence,  who  had 
taken  advantage  of  the  dispute  to  possess  himself 
of  the  one  ripe  granadilla  on  the  table,  and  was 
rapidly  and  quietly  getting  through  it  unobserved. 
"  You'll  get  the  worst  of  it,  Bodkin;  keep  your  hair 
on,  and  finish  your  dinner.     It's  too  hot  to  argue." 

It  certainly  was.  Scott,  seated  at  the  next  table, 
coatless,  like  everyone  else,  and  with  his  sleeves 
rolled  up  to  the  elbow,  paused  now  and  then  in  his 
dinner  to  mop  his  wet  forehead,  and  to  envy  the 
native  boys  who  were  serving  the  meal.  A  cos- 
tume consisting  only  of  a  scarlet  cotton  kilt,  some 
bead  necklaces,  and  a  row  of  white  flowers  stuck 
like  pins  into  the  depths  of  the  huge  mass  of  brown 
woolly  hair,  seemed  sensible  and  desirable  on  this 
breathless  night. 


GUINEA  GOLD  17 

The  room  was  fairly  large,  and  had  as  many 
doors  arid  windows  as  a  scene  in  a  French  farce: 
they  were  all  wide  open,  and  through  their  spaces 
one  could  see  dark  palms  and  pawpaws  standing 
up  like  black  paper  cuttings  on  a  purple  velvet  back- 
ground. There  were  stars  visible  among  the  spaces 
of  the  boughs,  but  they  looked  hot  and  still.  A  vio- 
lent scent  from  the  invisible  pawpaw  flowers,  and 
from  frangipanis  a  little  farther  off,  mingled  with 
the  odours  of  cookery  and  the  faint  exhalations  of 
the  bar.  Along  the  coral  sand  of  the  main  street 
outside  bare  feet  scuffled  by  continually:  the  square 
of  light  thrown  out  by  the  open  door  framed  strange, 
wild  pictures,  passing  from  dark  to  dark  like  the 
figures  in  a  cinematograph  show — big,  brown,  naked 
men,  with  immense  woolly  heads  full  of  feathers  and 
flowers,  dog-tooth  necklaces,  and  gay  red  and  yellow 
leaves  thrust  into  their  fibre-woven  armlets  and 
anklets:  house-boys  taking  the  evening  air,  proudly 
costumed  in  a  waistcoat  and  a  cuff :  women  from  the 
mainland  villages  swinging  their  full  short  crinolines 
of  ribbony  leaves  as  they  walked,  and  playing  with 
their  neck-chains  of  scarlet  shell-money:  a  youth 
from  the  wild  outer  islands,  who  had  just  drawn 
up  his  carved  and  shell-enamelled  canoe  on  the 
beach,  and  was  peeping  with  astounded  eyes  at 
the  wonderful  white  men  and  their  wonderful  s, 
food.   .    .    . 

11  By  Jove,  that  fellow's  wearing  a  human  jaw 
round   his   neck,"   broke   out   Scott,    dropping  the 


1 8  GUINEA  GOLD 

piece  of  sweet  potato  on  his  fork,  and  staring  at 
the  door. 

The  man  from  the  outer  islands,  seeing  himself 
looked  at,  melted  away  like  a  dissolving  view  into 
the  darkness. 

Anderson,  at  the  next  table,  answered  the  ex- 
clamation, apparently  out  of  civility. 

"  Yes;  that'll  be  a  Trobriand  boy,  I  should  think. 
They  often  wear  jaws." 

"  Why?"  asked  Scott,  turning  his  chair  a  little, 
so  as  to  face  the  other  man. 

"  Oh,  I  think  as  a  kind  of  memorial  of  the  dead. 
Sort  of  locket.  Not  a  piece  of  an  enemy,  as  a  rule. 
The  Trobrianders  aren't  cannibals." 

"  There's  a  good  deal  of  it  still  elsewhere,  judg- 
ing by  what  you  were  saying  just  now,"  commented 
Scott. 

"  There's  a  lot  of  nonsense  talked  about  that," 
said  the  other,  and  returned  to  his  dinner.  Scott 
became  conscious  that  all  the  men  at  the  table  were 
quietly  taking  him  in.  None  of  them  stared  rudely, 
but  keen  covert  glances  were  flying  like  arrows.  On 
his  part  he  wondered  greatly  who  or  what  these  men 
might  be — these  beings  who  were  so  various  in  dress, 
manner,  and  (apparently)  in  social  position,  yet 
who  bore  each  one  a  likeness  to  the  other,  and  who 
were  all  alike  in  their  callous  way  of  regarding 
death  and  danger.  The  young  engineer  had  seen 
pluck  enough  in  his  own  profession,  but  this  was 
something  of  another  kind. 


GUINEA  GOLD  19 

After  dinner  the  men  drifted  off  into  the  bar,  and 
Scott,  led  by  curiosity,  followed  them.  He  wanted 
to  study  them,  and  he  wanted,  by  and  by,  to  ask 
them  if  there  were  any  gold-miners  in  Samarai. 
Business  must  not  be  forgotten  in  the  midst  of  all 
these  strange  new  sights  and  interests. 

It  was,  if  possible,  hotter  in  the  bar.  Twenty  or 
thirty  men  were  crowded  about  the  counter,  leaning 
on  it  and  talking.  Most  of  them  were  of  the  same 
type  as  those  who  had  occupied  the  table  next  Scott's 
at  dinner.  He  recognised  it  at  once,  but  he  could 
not  put  a  name  to  it.  It  began  to  worry  him.  What 
was  it  that  these  men  had  in  common?  What  gave 
them  all  alike  that  unnameable  look  in  the  eyes — 
a  look  that  spoke  of  distances,  of  solitudes,  of 
ghastly  things  seen  long  ago  and  forgotten — that 
deliberate  way  of  moving,  that  inexpressive,  out- 
ward-looking countenance?  Now  that  he  looked  at 
the  men  more  closely,  he  was  struck  also  by  their 
strength.  They  were  none  of  them  young:  most 
were  middle-aged,  and  some  were  actually  old — but 
they  were  bundles  of  hard,  sinewy  muscle,  every  one, 
and  the  slight  stoop  that  most  of  them  had  detracted 
little  from  a  certain  independence  of  carriage,  al- 
most approaching  a  swagger,  that  the  engineer  had 
never  seen  in  any  man  who  could  not  hold  his  own 
with  the  best. 

Observation,  however,  seemed  likely  to  stop  short 
where  it  had  begun.  There  was  something  reserved 
and  unapproachable  in  the  manner  of  the  men  that 


20  GUINEA  GOLD 

held  back  the  stranger  from  any  attempt  at  rushing 
their  acquaintance.  Big  Anderson,  towering  over 
even  the  sturdy  Belfast  man  by  a  good  two  inches 
of  height,  seemed  the  only  possible  bridge  of  ap- 
proach. Scott  felt  this,  without  knowing  why:  the 
fact  was,  that  Anderson,  knowing  more  than  the 
rest,  was  waiting  to  be  approached. 

A  word  or  two  about  the  heat  of  the  night  made 
a  beginning:  the  inevitable  invitation  to  drink  carried 
it  on.  Over  a  glass  of  whiskey  that  was  good  enough 
to  explain  the  carelessness  of  Figg's  in  other  mat- 
ters— why  worry  about  clean  sheets  and  decent  table 
service  if  you  had  the  one  thing  that  really  mat- 
tered?— Scott  found  a  chance  of  putting  his  question. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "  but  I  wish  you 
could  tell  me — are  there  any  miners  in  Samarai?  I 
want  to  meet  some  of  them." 

At  this  every  man  in  the  bar  turned  round  and 
looked  at  him,  glass  in  hand. 

"  We're  all  miners  here,"  said  Anderson  briefly. 

Scott  said  nothing,  but  he  felt  himself  gaping. 
He  had  rarely  been  more  surprised.  Some  of  the 
men  began  to  laugh. 

"  Bret  Harte  again!  "  remarked  Anderson,  half 
shutting  his  sharp  green  eyes,  with  a  wearied  ex- 
pression. "  You're  disappointed,  aren't  you?  If  we 
had  known  >^u  were  coming  we'd  have  had  all  the 
stage  properties  to  please  you — put  bullet-holes 
through  your  shirt-cuffs,  and  gambled  with  nuggets 
on  the  pudding-plates,  anpl  shot  a  man  on  the  veran- 


GUINEA  GOLD  21 

dah  after  dinner.  Not  even  a  red  shirt  or  a  pair  of 
knee-boots!  Too  bad,  isn't  it?  We  do  disappoint 
the  tourists  so !  " 

"  But  I'm  not  a  tourist,"  said  Scott.  "  I'm  going 
to  try  my  luck  on  the  goldfields  myself." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  the  country?  " 
asked  Anderson. 

"  No,"  said  Scott. 

"  Anything  about  mining?  " 

"  No."  The  second  "  no  "  came  easier.  Ander- 
son's green  eyes  seemed  boring  into  his  face.  They 
made  him  uncomfortable,  and  yet — he  was  telling 
the  truth.  Was  he  not?  He  assured  himself  that 
he  was,  though  perhaps  not  the  whole  truth. 

"  Have  you  enough  money  to  take  a  team  of 
boys  with  you?  "  asked  the  big  miner. 

"  I  think  so,"  answered  the  Northerner  cau- 
tiously.    "  Is  that  necessary?  " 

M  Yes.  The  white  man  can't  do  his  own  work  in 
this  country." 

Scott  experienced  a  shock  of  astonishment.  That 
such  men  as  these  could  not  do  any  work,  any- 
where, seemed  scarcely  credible.  He  inwardly  re- 
solved to  see  for  himself  before  making  up  his  mind. 
But  he  said  nothing.  It  became  incumbent  on  him 
to  offer  Anderson  a  drink,  and  he  did  so,  leaving 
his  own  as  nearly  untouched  as  he  could.  These  men 
seemed  to  drink  strong  spirit  like  water,  but  Scott's 
nervous  system  was  not  of  the  type  that  requires 
such  fiery  spurs. 


22  GUINEA  GOLD 

Under  his  breath  he  said  to  himself — 

"  Miners!    Well,  I'm  Wowed!" 

He  really  had  expected  something  of  the  kind 
suggested  by  the  mocking  giant  at  his  side.  And  if 
you  think  that  a  hard-headed  young  Irish  engineer 
out  on  an  adventurous  trip  is  not  likely  to  cherish 
story-book  fancies,  ask  yourself  if  the  dog  chained 
up  in  the  yard  all  week  is  likely,  or  not  likely,  to 
run  hard  and  far  when  Sunday  morning  loosens  his 
collar  for  him. 

The  whiskey,  which  seemed  to  have  no  power  to 
affect  anyone's  head  as  yet,  had  at  all  events  loosened 
tongues,  and  a  river  of  bush  and  mining  talk  began 
to  flow.  Scott  listened,  evading  as  well  as  he  could 
the  too-hospitable  invitations  that  began  to  shower 
down  on  him,  but  finding  himself  nevertheless  con- 
strained to  drink  more  than  he  cared  for.  The  bar- 
room grew  unnaturally  bright:  small  shiny  waves 
seemed  floating  in  the  air.  The  voices  roared  like 
surf  on  a  pebbly  shore. 

"  .  .  .  What  did  he  die  of?  Beri-beri,  they 
reckoned — unlucky  thing;  those  meat-ants  seem  to 
have  got  at  him  before  he  was  found,  and  .  .  .  That 
time  Whitman  was  up  at  Carpet-Snake:  he  never 
did  know  how  to  manage  his  boys,  and  they  ran  away 
from  him,  and  it  was  just  then  that  he  lit  on  payable 
stuff — tried  to  work  it  himself  with  an  extra  dose  of 
dynamite,  but  he  didn't  give  the  fuse  time,  and  if 
the  Government  survey  party  hadn't  chanced  across, 
he'd  never  have  got  down  to  Samarai  with  one  hand 


GUINEA  GOLD  23 

and  a  foot  and  a  half:  been  crawling  along  for  days, 
when  they  found  him.  .  .  .  Oh  no,  Coppinger's  boys 
never  ran  away, — they  liked  him  all  right, — the 
trouble  was  that  they  got  scrapping  when  he  went 
down  to  the  store  for  a  few  days,  and  as  they  were 
all  man-eaters,  and  came  from  different  villages,  they 
went '  kavakava  '  when  he  wasn't  there  to  keep  them 
in  order,  and  so,  of  course,  when  he  got  back  again, 
he  found  they'd  mostly  eaten  each  other  up,  and  he 
had  to  start  out  and  recruit  some  more.  .  .  .  Ku- 
kukukus?  Never  attacked  me,  not  once:  anyone 
who  says  so  is  talking  through  his  hat.  Came  round 
the  camp  sometimes  and  threw  spears  at  us :  noth- 
ing else.  .  .  .  Well,  I  tell  you,  when  that  boy  came 
up  out  of  the  creek  he  was  spangled  all  over  with 
gold  like  a  blooming  Christmas  cake:  dropping  off 
him  it  was — so  that's  how  they  found  it  out.  .  .  . " 
When  do  you  reckon  to  start?  "  asked  a  voice 
out  of  the  mist. 

Scott  felt  clear  enough  in  his  head  to  answer: 
"  As  soon  as  I  can." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Punch's  *  Advice  to  Those 
About  to  Marry  '  ?  "  went  on  the  voice — Ander- 
son's apparently. 

"Yes;  it  was  '  Don't.'" 

11  Exactly,"  said  the  voice,  which  certainly  had  an 
acid  flavour  now,  unnoticeable  before — but  perhaps 
it  was  not  real :  perhaps  .   .   . 

("  I  had  better  get  out  of  this,"  said  Scott  to 
himself.) 


24  GUINEA  GOLD 

The  voice  went  on. 

"  You've  time  to  quit  yet.  Think  again,  I'd  ad- 
vise you." 

"  Why?  "  asked  Scott,  with  a  perfectly  clear  enun- 
ciation.    (He  was  glad  of  that.) 

Anderson's  mood  suddenly  changed.  He  gave  a 
loud,  hard  laugh,  and  moved  off. 

"  Oh,  why,  indeed?  Why  should  I  trouble,  any- 
how? "  he  said.  And  if  the  bright  waves  in  the  air 
had  been  a  little  less  dazzling,  Scott  could  have 
found  brain  to  think  that  the  bitterness  of  the  tone 
was  more  unmistakable  than  ever — could  even  have 
guessed  that  it  spoke  of  loss.  .  .  .  What  had  An- 
derson lost  in  that  wilderness  to  which  he  himself 
was  hurrying?  Lost?  He  was  thinking  nonsense: 
his  head  must  really  be  going. 

The  soft,  cultivated  tone  of  Rupert  Dence  rose 
beside  him. 

"  Anderson's  right,"  it  said.  "  But  you  won't 
mind  him:  no  one  does  mind  that  sort  of  thing.  I 
shall  be  drunk  to-night,  but  if  you  will  look  me  up 
to-morrow,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  give  you  any 
pointers  that  I  can." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  replied  Scott,  wondering 
whether  he,  or  the  other,  was  a  little  mad. 

There  was  no  more  of  Dence  then,  and  no  more 
of  Anderson,  but  many  flannel-shirted  men,  with  soft 
hats  jammed  tight  down  on  their  heads,  talked  for 
years  about  recruiting,  and  ground-sluices,  and 
flumes,  and  something  that  they  called  u  the  wash." 


GUINEA  GOLD  25 

("  It  does  not  mean  a  wash  of  clothes,"  explained 
Scott  to  himself,  with  immense  seriousness — "  they 
are  talking  of  the  working  of  the  mines.")  It 
seemed  possible  to  get  away  now,  and  he  began  edg- 
ing to  the  door,  congratulating  himself  on  having 
kept  his  head. 

"  All  right  after  all,"  he  said.  And  then—"  No, 
by  Jove,  I'm  not — if  I've  begun  seeing  things  that 
aren't  here."  He  looked  behind  the  bar  in  some 
dismay.  The  stout  man  who  had  been  serving 
drinks  was  gone,  Scott  knew  not  when  or  how,  and  in 
his  place  stood  a  girl.  There  was  nothing  remark- 
able about  this,  but  it  was  remarkable,  or  some- 
thing more,  that  she  should  be  refined  and  cultivated- 
looking,  an  unmistakable  gentlewoman — in  the 
roughest  bar  of  the  roughest  town  in  New  Guinea 
— and  as  to  her  looks  .    .    . 

"  It  has  gone  to  my  head,"  decided  Scott  in  some 
dismay.  "  No  girl  is  as  beautiful  as  that — even  if 
she  were  there,  and  I'm  not  even  sure  she  is.  .  .  . 
I've  got  to  get  out  of  this." 

Without  any  apparent  interval  of  stairs  he  found 
himself  in  his  own  room.  He  felt  aggrieved  with 
himself,  as  he  got  to  bed,  though  there  seemed  no 
bodily  effect  from  his  excess.  But  his  head  was 
undeniably  affected. 

"  It's  been  an  impossible  sort  of  day,  but  she's  the 
crowning  impossibility,"  he  thought,  as  his  mosquito 
curtain  dropped.  "  They  are  not  as  pretty.  They 
certainly  are  not."    He  fell  asleep. 


26  GUINEA  GOLD 

Some  hours  later,  Mr.  Clay,  emboldened  by  previ- 
ous immunity,  and  making  a  second  try  after  the 
packet,  found  himself  knocked  through  the  door  into 
the  verandah  by  something  like  the  kick  of  a  horse. 

"  You  change  your  room,  my  son,"  advised  a  voice 
from  under  a  wrecked  mosquito  curtain.  "  I'll  have 
to  take  your  net,  and  I  don't  feel  inclined  for  com- 
pany, anyway." 

Clay  picked  himself  up,  and  went  off  without  even 
an  oath.  He  went,  indeed,  as  silently  as  a  native 
dog.  Those  who  know  the  native  dog  will  tell  you 
that  when  it  does  this,  you  had  better  keep  a  guard 
over  your  heels  for  a  while. 

Scott  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

"  The  brute  woke  me  when  I  was  dreaming  about 
her!  "  he  said,  as  his  eyes  closed. 

But  next  morning  she  had  so  nearly  passed  away 
from  his  mind  that  he  did  not  even  look  in  at  the 
door  of  the  bar  as  he  went  downstairs. 

It  showed  the  young  Irishman's  sense  and  sobriety 
alike  that  he  did  not  worry  about  his  small  lapse  of 
the  previous  night,  but  merely  decided  to  turn  total 
abstainer  for  the  term  of  his  stay  in  Papua.  Ab- 
stinence cost  him  nothing,  as  he  knew  by  experience, 
and  there  was  clearly  no  middle  way  among  men 
who  could  drink  as  the  miners  did.  Moreover,  he 
had  not  obtained  any  of  the  information  he  really 
wanted,  and  he  had  been  rather  nearer  talking  about 
his  own  affairs  than  he  liked. 

Half  an  hour  after  breakfast  he  had  found  a 


GUINEA  GOLD  27 

comparatively  shady  and  very  quiet  spot  up  on  the 
top  of  the  island — a  little  glade  in  the  heart  of  a 
cocoanut-grove,  surrounded  by  low-swinging,  glitter- 
ing fronds  that  framed,  and  veiled,  and  hid,  and 
showed  again  the  jewelled  wonders  of  the  straits 
that  lay  below.  Up  here  not  a  roof  of  the  little 
tin-built  town  could  be  seen,  not  even  a  turn  of  the 
coral  path.  One  might  have  been  alone  on  Robinson 
Crusoe's  island,  with  the  wreck  going  to  pieces  on 
the  beach  below. 

Here  Scott  sat  down  on  the  grass,  after  a  careful 
search  for  scorpions  or  centipedes,  pulled  a  paper 
out  of  his  clothes,  and  spread  it  on  his  knees.  It  was 
a  map  of  Papua,  such  as  may  be  bought  in  Melbourne 
for  a  shilling  or  two.  Some  of  the  rivers  were 
marked  with  pencil  lines,  and  here  and  there  there 
was  a  note  of  interrogation.  He  studied  the  map 
for  a  while,  then  took  out  a  letter,  much  like  other 
letters,  save  for  the  circumstance  of  its  being  care- 
fully mounted  on  a  linen  backing,  and  looked  at  that 
too.  Finally,  he  put  the  letter  into  its  case,  and 
slipped  the  case  inside  his  shirt,  where  it  hung  by  a 
cord. 

"  A  partner  it  must  be,"  he  said,  and  fell 
a-whistling  softly. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  Nature  sometimes  plays 
theatrical  tricks.  Quite  after  the  best  traditions  of 
the  stage  was  the  incident  that  followed.  From 
the  sloping  side  of  the  hill,  some  little  way  off,  there 
appeared  first  the  head  and  then  the  entire  figure 


28  GUINEA  GOLD 

of  Mr.  Rupert  Dence,  in  a  very  clean  white  suit, 
with  a  calm  and  sober  expression  on  his  face,  and  a 
cigarette  held  daintily  between  two  fingers.  It  was 
he  who  had  organised  the  dog-fight  in  the  dining- 
room  which  had  disturbed  Scott's  early  slumbers  on 
the  night  before,  and  certain  smashed  glass  doors 
also  were  connected  with  Mr.  Dence's  ideas  of  ex- 
pressing the  joy  of  living  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  But  no  one  would  have  thought  it,  to 
see  him  advancing  down-stage  through  that  very 
theatrical-looking  glade  of  palms,  with  the  air  of 
a  somewhat  damaged  jeune  premier  on  the  lookout 
for  the  leading  lady,  smiling,  smart,  and  sociable. 

Scott,  in  his  workman  days,  had  been  the  best  fore- 
man of  a  gang  that  ever  the  M'Aherin  ironworks 
had  known.  His  judgment  of  men,  if  not  instan- 
taneous, was  quick  and  safe. 

"  This  man  will  do,"  he  thought.  "  Away  from 
hotels  he'll  keep  right.  He  doesn't  care  a  hang  what 
I  think  of  him,  and  he  has  pluck — they  all  have,  for 
the  matter  of  that.  It  has  to  be  someone:  I  might 
go  farther  and  fare  worse  than  this." 

The  two  men  met,  and  Dence  made  no  pretence 
of  having  come  up  by  accident. 

"  Good-morning!  I  followed  you,"  he  said.  "  I 
meant  to  put  you  up  to  something  about  that  room- 
mate of  yours." 

"  Did  you  see  him  to-day?  "  asked  Scott,  getting 
up. 

"  Only   in  the  distance :  he   seemed   inclined  to 


GUINEA  GOLD  29 

skulk — looked  as  if  there  was  something  the  mat- 
ter with  his  face." 

"  Exactly.    You  see  you  needn't  trouble." 
Dence  laughed.     "  I  see  I  needn't,"  he  said. 
A  momentary  silence  fell.     Dence  smoked  deli- 
cately, enjoying  his  cigarette,  which  was  of  a  brand 
not  common  in  the  South  Seas.     He  knew  by  now 
that  Scott  had  something  to  say  to  him. 


CHAPTER  III 

It  was  very  quiet  on  the  top  of  the  island.  Below, 
on  the  windward  side,  the  reef  roared  faintly,  far 
away.  You  could  just  hear  the  rattle  of  the  Ma- 
tunga 's  winches,  down  in  the  invisible  harbour,  as 
she  unloaded  her  cargo.  But  it  seemed  almost  silent 
up  here,  alone  with  the  wind  and  the  palms. 

"  I've  got  to  have  a  partner,"  said  Scott,  lifting 
his  eyes  to  Dence's  face  and  fixing  him  with  a  steady 
look. 

The  man  with  a  hidden  history  and  a  false  name 
met  that  look  fairly.  It  waked  a  pinching  pain 
somewhere  or  other  in  his  battered  personality:  there 
had  been  a  time,  though  he  could  scarce  believe  it 
now,  when  he  too  was  twenty-something;  steady  and 
straight  and  diamond-clear  down  to  the  bottom  of 
his  young  soul.  .  .  .  Those  waters  were  muddied 
now.  Still,  he  could  answer  the  unspoken  question 
honestly. 

The  eyes  of  English  blue  and  the  eyes  of  Northern 
grey  read  each  other  for  a  pregnant  instant.  Then 
Scott  stretched  out  his  hand,  with  an  action  as 
deliberate  as  the  signing  of  a  bond.  Dence  took  it, 
and  the  rough  pressure  he  gave  was  his  promise. 

"  I've    come    here    on    business,"    said    Scott. 

M  T » 


GUINEA  GOLD  31 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  said  the  other,  letting  himself  down 
on  the  grass  and  leaning  against  a  palm-trunk.  "  I 
begin  to  think  there  was  something  after  all  in  what 
that  reptile  Clay  said  to  Anderson  and  myself.  We 
didn't  pay  much  attention  to  him:  we  only  thought 
he  was  spyin'  about  because  it  was  his  nature  to,  and 
I  had  an  idea  you  might  be  carryin'  your  money  on 
your  person — so  I  meant  to  give  you  a  hint.  But 
let  me  tell  you  what  he  said." 

Scott,  seated  on  the  grass  alongside,  with  his  pipe 
going,  listened,  and  nodded  his  head  once  or 
twice. 

"  Not  so  far  out,"  he  said,  when  the  recital  was 
done.  "  I'm  sorry  it  happened:  I  did  think  I  was 
old  enough  to  take  care  of  myself.  But  I  never 
supposed  the  little  rat  would  get  feeling  about  when 

I  was  asleep — one  is  only  on  one's  guard  about 
money,  as  a  rule,  and  I  have  mine  in  drafts.  I  don't 
suppose  I  need  worry,  however." 

Dence  did  not  answer  immediately. 
"  No — I  don't  suppose  you  need,"  he  said  by  and 
by.     The  subject  dropped. 

"  What  I  have  come  here  for,"  said  George  Scott, 

II  is  to  make  money.  I  feel  as  if  I'd  give  my  life 
for  ten  years  of  a  decent  income.  I've  had  a  bitter 
hard  time  of  it,  and  I  wasn't  brought  up  to  want, 
worse  luck.  Engineering's  my  job — just  the  com- 
mon or  garden  mechanical  kind:  I've  been  running 
a  sort  of  small  repairing  business  in  Belfast,  and 
making  bread  and  butter  at  it,  but  .    .    .  There's  a 


32  GUINEA  GOLD 

time  in  a  fellow's  life  when  he  wants  more: — one 
begins  to  see  all  the  good  things  there  are  in  the 
world,  and  kick  because  you  haven't  your  share. 
And  there's  where  the  '  get-rich-quick '  madness 
comes  in.  And  especially  if  .  .  .  there's  someone 
else  to  think  of.  She  ought  to  have  her  share — and 
there's  no  one  but  you  to  get  it  for  her.  And  that 
makes  you  feel  worse." 

He  picked  at  the  grass  under  his  hands.  He  had 
been  born  with  the  curse  of  the  nervous  tempera- 
ment, and  had  trampled  it  under  his  feet  as  St. 
George  trampled  the  dragon;  but  microscopic  traces 
still  lived. 

"  I  couldn't  think  of  any  way  to  do  it,"  he  said. 
"  Without  capital  there's  nothing  in  any  sort  of  en- 
gineering but  an  endless  grind — a  fair  income,  per- 
haps, when  you're  forty,  but  that's  too  far  away. 
I  wouldn't  try  any  wild-cat  schemes  with  the  little 
bit  I  had.  I  used  to  think,  and  think,  but  I  couldn't 
see  my  way  out.  And  Belfast's  a  town  where  it's 
simple  hell  to  be  poor. 

"  Well,  it  came  by  chance — it's  like  a  fairy-tale. 
I  was  gathering  together  what  I  could  in  the  way  of 
furniture,  bit  by  bit,  a  chair  here,  and  a  set  of 
shelves  there — and  one  day  I  was  hanging  out  at  a 
pawnbroker's  sale,  trying  to  pick  up  an  ornament  or 
so,  when  they  put  up  a  miscellaneous  lot — a  Chinese 
vase,  a  foreign  basket  or  two,  some  shells,  and  a 
New  Guinea  bamboo  pipe,  poker-worked  by  the 
natives.    The  lot  went  very  cheap,  and  as  I  wanted 


GUINEA  GOLD  33 

the  vase  I  took  it.  When  I  got  the  things  home,  I 
brushed  them  up,  and  they  didn't  look  half  bad. 
The  pipe " 

"  Bau-bau,  it's  called." 

"  Is  it?  thanks — well,  I  thought  it  a  very  rummy- 
looking  thing,  as  it  hadn't  an  opening  that  I  could 
see,  and  I  wanted  to  find  out  how  it  was  smoked. 
I  found  a  little  hole  in  one  side  that  smelt  of  smoke, 
so  I  guessed  it  was  done  by  sticking  the  tobacco  in 
that,  and  letting  the  smoke  fill  up  the  bamboo.  I 
had  a  fancy  then  to  try  it  myself,  so  I  cut  a  bit  of 
plug,  and  was  going  to  stick  it  in  and  light  it,  when 
I  heard  something  rattle  inside,  held  it  up  to  the 
light,  and  saw  something  like  a  little  wad  of  paper. 
Well,  I  began  to  wonder:  I  didn't  think  the  savages 
of  New  Guinea  had  paper,  and  I  couldn't  make  out 
what  they  wanted  putting  bits  in  to  spoil  their  smoke 
if  they  had.  I  went  at  it  with  a  bit  of  wire,  but  I 
couldn't  hook  it  out — the  wad  seemed  to  have  been 
forced  in  through  the  hole,  and  it  had  spread  after- 
wards. I  was  getting  a  bit  curious,  so  I  threw  a 
sixpence — heads  I  break  up  the  pipe,  tails  I  let  it 
alone.  And  it  came  to  heads.  And  that's  why  I'm 
here  to-day." 

The  south-east  hummed  in  the  palm  trees:  the 
rattling  of  winches  down  below  in  the  invisible  har- 
bour went  on.  Dence  listened  to  the  tale,  and  saw, 
as  he  listened,  many  things,  in  many  strange  corners 
of  the  world,  that  had  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  the 
saga  of  George  Scott.     You,  who  have  roamed  the 


34  GUINEA  GOLD 

world,  what  does  the  rattling  of  those  cargo  winches 
say  to  you? 

"  It  may  be — nothing,"  went  on  Scott,  "  or  it  may 
be  something  very  big.  Anyhow,  I  thought  it  good 
enough  to  sell  my  little  repair  business  and  clear  out 
for  this  country  with  every  penny  I  had.  I've  been 
wild  at  myself  a  dozen  times  for  doing  it — and  yet — 
a  man  can't  always  be  prudent.  And — the — the 
girl  I'm  engaged  to — was  as — as  plucky  as  old  boots 
about  it.  I  told  her,  though  I  didn't  tell  anyone 
else,  and  she  just  said,  l  Go,  and  if  you  come  back 
a  beggar '  " 

Another  break.  Rupert  Dence,  who  knew  him- 
self born  to  receive  the  confidences  of  other  men,  by 
many  experiences  in  many  climes,  said  nothing  at  all. 

?'"'.:'.  .  .  I'll  get  two  beggars'  sacks,  and  we'll 
make  bread-puddings  of  the  crusts  from  the  back- 
doors, and  eat  them  together,'  she  said." 

Scott  shut  his  mouth  on  this,  and  looked  very  hard 
at  the  violet  mass  of  Basilisk  Island  shouldering  up 
behind  tall  green  Sariba. 

"  So  I  went,"  he  said  presently.  "  It's  something 
about  gold,  and  it  seems  to  be  a  good  thing.  But 
there's  one  thing  quite  clear  to  me  from  the  talk  I 
heard  last  night,  and  that  is,  that  I  must  have  a 
partner.  I  don't  know  the  first  thing  about  mining. 
What  do  you  think  about  joining  me?  If  we  agree, 
I  can  show  you  the  paper,  and  we'll  discuss  shares 
afterwards." 

"  There  are  one  or  two  things  you  ought  to  know 


GUINEA  GOLD  35 

first/'  said  Rupert  Dence,  in  the  drawling  English 
accent  that  contrasted  so  sharply  with  the  crisp, 
clipped  tone  of  the  Ulsterman.  "  First,  I  drink.  I 
drink  a  lot  when  I'm  in  Samarai  or  Port  Moresby. 
I'm  not  in  the  least  likely  to  stop,  couldn't  if  I 
would,  probably,  and  certainly  don't  mean  to  try." 

"  Do  you  talk  when  you  drink?  "  asked  Scott. 

Over  the  tanned  face  and  neck  of  Rupert  Dence, 
false-named,  unclassed,  a  slow  deep  red  crept  up. 

"  I  did,  once  in  my  life,"  he  said. 

Then,  after  a  pause — 

"  I  never  did  again." 

"  I'm  no  missionary,"  said  Scott.  "  We  can  let 
it  go  at  that.    If  that's  all  you  have  to " 

"  Not  quite.  I've  been  diggin'  on  the  Kikiramu 
lately,  in  the  big  camps — so  far  as  Papua  ever  has  a 
camp.  I  used  to  dig  in  Misima :  island  away  off  the 
south-east  coast.  I  went  clean  native  there :  some  of 
them  do.  Wore  nothin'  but  a  waist-cloth,  almost 
forgot  how  to  talk,  drank  kava  till  my  eyes  nearly 
gave  out,  and  I  got  a  worse  kind  of  jumps  than  any 
whiskey  can  give  you.  Killed  a  Papuan  or  two,  with- 
out cause  that  a  jury  would  have  found  sufficient. 
I'm  a  bad  lot  all  round:  so  the  respectable  people  of 
Papua  would  tell  you — there  are  lots  of  respectable 
people  in  Papua  now,  since  it  became  Australian. 
Some  of  us  liked  the  old  Crown  Colony  days  a  good 
deal  the  best.    Well,  '  dost  thou  like  the  picture?  '  " 

11  Yes,  all  right,"  persisted  Scott.  "  That's  your 
funeral,  not  mine.    If  I  might  ask,  why  ..." 


36  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  Joe  Anderson,  that's  why,"  said  the  other,  as 
Scott  paused  in  some  embarrassment.  "  Anderson 
went  down  to  Misima,  looked  me  up  in  the  bush, 
fitted  me  out  with  clothes,  and  did  the  prodigal 
father  business — or  wasn't  it  the  son  that  was 
prodigal?  Anyhow,  Anderson  took  me  off  up  the 
Kikiramu  with  himself.  And  we  both  did  fairly 
well.  And  I  spent  the  result — as  I  always  do.  I  al- 
ways will.    Now  you  know." 

"  Anything  more?  " 

"  Yes.     One  thing  more.     Don't  go  at  all." 

"  Why  in— Hades— not?  " 

"  Oh,  you'll  go — but  you'd  better  not.  Papua'll 
get  hold  of  you.  It  gets  us  all.  There  isn't  a  man 
in  the  country  who  doesn't  and  didn't  mean  to  go 
away  again — and  they  don't.  It's  the  funniest  thing 
in  the  world.  Every  government  officer,  when  he's 
goin'  south  on  leave,  tells  you,  as  a  startlin'  novelty, 
that  he  means  to  get  another  job,  and  stay  in 
Australia.  And  the  B.P.  salesmen,  when  they 
go,  tell  you  they  mean  to  get  themselves  put  on 
an  Australian  branch.  And  the  planters  are  always 
goin'  to  settle  in  Tasmania  or  New  Zealand.  And 
the  miners — well,  the  miners — we're  the  most 
shockin'  case  of  the  lot.  Ten,  and  twenty,  yes,  and 
five-and-twenty  years  some  of  us  have  been  here, — 
always  goin'  to  go  away.  Whoever  else  goes,  you 
may  take  your  solemn  oath  we  don't.  You  see,  it's 
two  things  have  got  us — Papua  and  the  little  yel- 
low specks.     If  the  one  holds  like  a  crab,  the  other 


GUINEA  GOLD  37 

holds  like  a  devil-fish  with  eight  arms  and  two  feelers 
and  a  beak.  We've  no  homes;  we've  no  wives — to 
speak  of:  and  you  may  take  that  sentence  just  how 
you  like — we've  no  peace,  no  rest,  not  as  much  com- 
fort as  a  decent  dog  in  a  decent  kennel :  we've  done 
with  everything  that  makes  life  worth  living:  we're 
buried,  like  that  old  Johnnie  in  the  '  Idylls  '  that 
Vivien  shut  up  in  the  hollow  oak: 

"' .  .  .  dead 
And  lost  to  life  and  name,  and  love  and  fame.' 

And — we  go  on." 

"Why?"  asked  Scott,  fascinated. 

"  The  little  yellow  specks,"  laughed  Dence. 
"  There,  I've  been  gassin'  quite  long  enough.  Your 
play." 

"  I  should  say  I've  done  enough  gassing,  too," 
answered  the  other.  "  You  may  believe  me,  or  you 
may  not,  but  I  never  talked  so  much  about  myself  to 
any  man  living  as  I've  done  to  you  this  morning." 

"  Well,  don't  hate  me  for  it  to-morrow,"  said 
Dence  acutely.  "  You're  almost  feeling  that  way 
now." 

It  was  partly  true,  but  Scott  laughed  the  feeling 
off  and  returned  to  the  main  point. 

"  Business!  "  he  said.  "  I  may  be  asking  you  to 
help  me  hunt  up  a  mare's  nest:  it  isn't  proved  so 
far  that  what  I  know  is  of  any  value.  But,  assum- 
ing that  it  is,  and  assuming  also  that  my  little  bit  of 
money  turns  out  enough,  will  you  join  in  with  me?  " 


38  GUINEA  GOLD 

Rupert  Dence  was  chewing  a  piece  of  palm  frond 
thoughtfully.  He  took  it  out  of  his  mouth  and 
threw  it  down  beside  the  stump  of  his  finished 
cigarette. 

"  Assumin'  that  you  don't  develop  any  objections 
later  to  goin'  partners  with  a  drunkard  and  a  scally- 
wag— and  assumin'  that  you  aren't  barkin'  up  an 
empty  tree — yes,  I'll  join." 

"  Now  for  the  paper  I  found  in  the — what  is  it? 
the  bau-bau,"  said  Scott,  fumbling  in  his  case. 

He  felt  no  reluctance  to  part  with  his  secret  now. 
George  Scott  was  cautious,  like  most  of  his  race,  but 
he  had  none  of  the  mean  secrecies  of  a  petty  nature. 
Either  he  trusted,  or  he  did  not.  Here,  instinct  told 
him  to  be  open — here,  with  the  "  drunkard  and 
scallywag,"  whom  he  had  chosen  for  his  working 
partner.  It  was  a  curious  situation  for  one  of  the 
most  respectable  young  men  of  the  most  respectable 
city  in  the  most  godly  and  conventional  province  of 
Ireland — but  the  Papuan  sun  and  moon  were  to  look 
down  on  stranger  situations  yet,  with  George  Scott 
entangled  therein. 

Dence  took  the  paper  from  his  hand  and  read  it, 
not  aloud.    Scott  followed  him  over  his  shoulder. 


"  Kikiramu  River,  Papua, 
Sometime  in  January,  19 — . 

"  Dear  Gil, — You  and  I  have  been  good  mates 
for  years  through  good  and  bad  times,  now  the  end 
has  come  for  me.  I  am  writing  this  with  death  at 
hand,  I  never  recovered  from  the  spear  wound  I 


GUINEA  GOLD  39 

told  you  about.  Thinking  how  you  saved  my  life  in 
that  trip  up  the  Mambare  helps  me  in  my  effort  to 
write,  as  I  know  if  you  receive  this  you  will  find  more 
gold  than  you  ever  dreamed  of.  Gil,  old  fellow,  I 
found  what  we  always  thought  was  there,  the  reef 
that  shed  the  gold  in  the  creek  where  we  last  worked 
together,  you  will  remember,  where  the  python 
caught  our  dog,  at  that  place  there  is  a  large  boulder 
in  the  stream  snowing  about  three  feet  above  water, 
when  the  river  is  very  low  a  granite  boulder  is  ex- 
posed for  about  8  inches;  keep  those  boulders  in  line 
and  go  west  up  the  sidling  until  you  come  to  the  same 
sort  of  a  tree  that  we  made  our  box  out  of  at  Alli- 
gator Creek.  From  the  tree  go  30  points  north  of 
east  260  paces,  and  you  will  come  to  a  diorite  rock 
outcropping  the  edge  of  the  conglomerate,  examine 
the  rock.  I  need  not  tell  you  anything  more,  I  hope 
this  gets  into  no  other  hands  than  yours,  but  have 
written  carefully  so  that  if  it  goes  astray  it  will  profit 
no  one  else,  you  will  understand  later.  I  send  this 
down  to  the  coast  with  my  best  boy,  and  hope  it  will 
reach  T.  I.  all  right,  and  now  good-bye,  we  have  had 
our  last  trip  together. — Your  old  mate, 

"  Harry  Cripps." 

"  I  was  sorry  for  the  poor  beggar  that  wrote  it 
when  I  read  it,"  said  Scott.  "  It's  a  pathetic  sort 
of  letter.  I  traced  up  where  it  came  from,  and  found 
that  '  Gil '  was  dead — it  was  not  nearly  as  much 
trouble  finding  out  as  one  would  have  thought:  I  got 
at  the  man  who  pawned  the  curios :  he  was  a  steward 
on  one  of  the  B.I.'s  who  had  lost  his  berth  and  come 
over  to  Belfast  to  look  for  work:  pawned  his  small 
goods  of  various  kinds,  and  was  not  at  all  secretive 


40  GUINEA  GOLD 

as  to  where  they  came  from.  The  bau-bau,  it  seems, 
he  picked  up  in  Thursday  Island,  at  the  sale  of  a 
dead  miner's  things  in  some  hotel:  the  miner  had 
gone  off  rather  suddenly  with  black-water  fever,  and 
they  sold  his  luggage  to  pay  his  bill.  The  steward 
had  no  idea  there  was  anything  in  the  pipe.  I  didn't 
feel  bound  to  let  him  into  the  thing,  but  I  dare  say 
I  should  never  have  taken  the  thing  up  at  all  if  the 
person  called  Gil  hadn't  been  dead.  I  judged  that  he 
had  not  had  time  to  make  any  use  of  the  paper — 
you  see,  the  date  is  this  year,  and  it's  only  August 
now — he  seems  to  have  hidden  it  away,  and  then 
been  surprised  by  death,  as  Cripps  himself  was." 

"  I  can  tell  you  who  Gil  was,"  said  Dence  thought- 
fully; "  it  was  a  fellow  called  Gilbert  Davidson,  who 
was  always  a  mate  of  Cripps'.  They  went  prospect- 
ing together  in  a  lot  of  places.  Yes,  Cripps  died  up 
the  Kikiramu  in  January  last.  .  .  .  The  reef!  Have 
you  any  idea  what  kind  of  a  thing  you've  got  hold 
of,  man?  " 

"  Not  the  least,"  said  Scott  promptly. 

"  Well,  it  would  take  me  half  an  hour  to  explain 
to  you,  in  your  present  state  of  beastly  ignorance; 
but  just  take  it  from  me  that  if  Cripps  did  get  on 
to  a  good  payin'  reef,  he's  done  what  no  miner  on 
the  mainland  has  done  yet,  though  we  dream  of  it 
all  night,  and  talk  of  it  half  the  day,  when  we've  any- 
one to  talk  to — which  we  haven't,  as  a  rule :  that's 
why  most  of  us  are  mad:  you  may  have  noticed  it. 
They  have  got  the  reef  in  Woodlark  Island,  but  it 


GUINEA  GOLD  41 

takes  big  machinery  to  work  there.  If  I  read  right, 
Cripps  has  got  the  kind  of  thing  they  used  to  get  in 
West  Australia — gold  like  plums  in  a  puddin'.  Oh, 
hang  it,  man,  it's  enough  to  make  a  dog  sick  to  see 
you  takin'  it  as  coolly  as  all  that — do  you  know  what 
you've  got?  " 

11  No :  I  told  you  that  before.  What  the  mischief 
would  I  be  wanting  a  partner  for  if  I  did?  Go 
easy:  there's  no  royal  road  to  it  that  I  can  see. 
What  about  the  puzzle  part?  " 

"  Hang  the  puzzle  part.  Cripps  had  been  read- 
in'  penny  novels,  and  they  went  to  his  head — that  can 
be  worked  out — somehow — anyhow.  By  Jove,  old 
man,  you've  hit  it  with  this!  " 

And  the  representative  of  imperturbable  England 
smacked  the  son  of  emotional  Ireland  on  the  back. 
Scott  grinned  his  hard,  bright  smile. 

"  I  see  rocks  ahead,"  he  said.  "  But  I'm  game  to 
try." 

The  two  partners  went  down  the  hill  together 
towards  the  hotel.  As  they  crossed  the  pathway  a 
girl  came  towards  them,  walking  fast,  as  if  for  exer- 
cise. She  was  of  medium  height,  with  an  extremely 
pretty  figure,  and  small  narrow  feet.  Her  beechnut- 
brown  hair  broke  round  her  little  pointed  face  like  a 
sea-wave  breaking  on  a  pearl-white  coral  shore.  She 
had  the  features  of  the  typical  pretty  girl,  the  short- 
ish, straight  nose,  brief  upper  lip,  and  curved  small 
mouth,  familiar  on  posters  and  magazine  covers — in- 
deed, there  were  quite  a  number  of  men,  in  various 


42  GUINEA  GOLD 

places,  who  cherished  different  advertisements  and 
magazine  fancy  heads  because  they  were  so  like  her. 
Her  eyes,  when  you  got  a  good  look  at  them,  made 
you  think  of  dark  heather  honey — perhaps  because 
of  their  colour,  perhaps  because  they  were  almost 
cloyingly  sweet.  She  looked  just  a  little  sad,  just 
a  little  timid:  if  you  were  a  man,  you  would  badly 
want  to  know  the  meaning  of  that  look,  so  that  you 
could  go  immediately  and  break  the  head  of  anyone 
who  had  caused  it.  She  was,  in  fine,  that  most  dan- 
gerous explosive — a  woman  who  draws  the  hearts 
of  men.  And,  like  almost  all  of  her  royal  clan,  she 
looked  as  though  the  crown  weighed  heavy  and  the 
gold  were  hard. 

"  I  say — is  that  the  girl  who  was  in  the  bar  last 
night?  "  inquired  Scott,  as  soon  as  she  was  past. 

"  She  is,"  answered  Dence,  in  a  tone  that  was  just 
a  shade  over-careless.    "  She's  the  new  barmaid." 

"  Barmaid?  in  Figg's?    Why,  man,  she's  a  lady!  " 

u  Certainly.  What  else  did  you  think  she  was?  " 
aske,d  the  other,  bristling  a  little. 

"  Well,  one  hardly  expects What's  she  doing 

here?" 

"  You  might  ask  her:  she's  paid  to  talk  to  any- 
one. 

"  What's  her  name,  I  wonder?  " 

"  Ducane — Charmian  Ducane,"  Dence  spoke  very 
clearly. 

"  Ducane — Du Where  have  I  heard  it  be- 
fore?   Was  she  ever  on  the  stage?  " 


GUINEA  GOLD  43 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge." 

"  Well,  I  believe  I've  heard  the  name  some- 
where," said  Scott,  dismissing  the  struggle  to  re- 
member.    "  She's  most  uncommonly  pretty." 

"  So  people  think.  Do  you  mind  telling  me  just 
how  much  money  you  can  raise  for  that  trip?  It 
isn't  an  affair  of  twopence-halfpenny  in  this  country, 
I  warn  you." 

"  Come  up  to  my  room,  and  we'll  talk  it  over," 
suggested  Scott. 

The  incredibly  pretty  girl  had  passed  out  of  his 
mind  again.  Instead,  with  a  talk  of  money  cropping 
up  again,  he  saw  the  vision  that  he  and  a  certain 
Janie  M'Crum  of  Malone  Road,  Belfast,  had 
sketched  out  together,  on  many  a  cold,  firelit  even- 
ing— a  little  villa  residence  with  a  front  lawn  and 
a  back  garden,  somewhere  about  the  Balmoral 
suburbs,  velvet  chairs  and  sofa  in  the  drawing- 
room,  leather  in  the  dining-room,  a  moderate-priced 
run-about  motor  in  the  little  garage,  trips  to  Port- 
rush  every  August,  Dublin  for  the  horse-show  .  •.  . 
many,  many  firelit  evenings,  when  nobody  should  go 
home,  because  everyone  would  be  at  home  .  .  .  lit- 
tle fair  heads  about  the  garden,  in  the  sunny  morn- 
ings .   .   . 

Scott  swallowed  down  his  vision  with  a  sigh. 
They  were  at  the  hotel  now.  And  the  vision,  some- 
how or  other,  did  not  cling  that  night.  Perhaps  he 
had  thought  about  it  too  often,  and  grown  almost 
tired  waiting. 


44  GUINEA  GOLD 

.  .  .  Over  Sariba  and  Basilisk  Island  the  light 
slunk  away.  Purple  and  blood-crimson,  fierce  with 
struggling  Titans,  and  wild  with  giant  fortresses 
crashing  down  to  fiery  ruin,  the  strange  New  Guinea 
sunset  began  to  burn  above  the  blackening  ranges. 
And  high  in  the  west,  like  the  crystal  lamp  of  Edith 
the  Swan-Necked,  searching  for  the  body  of  her 
lover  on  Senlac's  bloody  field,  Love's  star  shone 
down  upon  the  crimson  death  of  day. 

.  .  .  Does  one  love  in  villa  residences  in  a  Bel- 
fast suburb,  with  a  good  and  gentle  Janie  M'Crum 
tending  the  velvet  drawing-room  furniture,  as  one 
might  love  beneath  the  burning  skies  of  Papua — 
Papua,  where  hearts  are  strong  to  dare,  and  hate, 
and  love,  and  where  the  tiny  twinkling  planet  of  the 
North  becomes  the  great  bright  queen  of  the  tropic 
world? 

If  anyone  asked  the  question  of  himself  that  night 
it  found  no  answer. 


CHAPTER  IV 

There  was  no  moonlight  that  nighl 

This  was  fortunate,  because  a  gentleman  who 
climbs  upon  a  roof  to  listen  to  the  conversation  of 
other  gentlemen  naturally  prefers  darkness.  It  was 
very  dark,  and  no  one  saw  Mr.  Clay  slip  round  to 
the  back  of  the  house,  shin  up  a  verandah  post,  and 
get  on  to  the  wide,  easily  sloping  iron  roof  that 
covered  the  nest  of  partitioned  cells  known  as  Figg's 
Federal   Hotel. 

In  the  outback  hotels  of  Australasia  and  the  Pacific 
you  will  almost  always  find  that  a  bedroom  means 
little  more  than  a  sort  of  cubicle  partitioned  off  at 
a  height  of  some  eight  or  nine  feet  from  the  other 
compartments  under  the  same  roof.  There  are 
sometimes  one  or  two  rooms  completely  walled  off 
from  the  rest,  sometimes  none.  Figg's  had  one:  it 
was  the  room  occupied  by  Scott,  and,  until  lately,  by 
Clay  as  well.  Clay  had  removed  his  traps  without 
protest,  and  taken  himself  completely  out  of  his 
room-mate's  sight,  in  the  hope  that  Scott  would  for- 
get all  about  him.  Which  Scott,  being  interested  in 
other  things,  naturally  did. 

But  in  the  heart  of  Clay  there  now  burned  a  pas- 
sion even  stronger  than  the  lust  of  unearned  gain 

45 


46  GUINEA  GOLD 

that  had  possessed  him  up  to  this — the  passion  of 
curiosity. 

The  strength  of  that  passion,  in  the  tortuous, 
cloudy  souls  of  certain  creatures  low  in  humanity's 
scale,  is  a  thing  for  other  and  normal  minds  to 
wonder  over  speechless.  There  are  beings  who 
seem  to  live,  parasitically,  only  on  the  blood  of 
other  minds.  Clay  had  the  obsession  in  its  worst 
form:  the  mere  thought  of  a  secret  that  he  could, 
and  ought  to,  know  nothing  about  set  the  blood 
drumming  in  his  ears  with  desire  to  get  at  it  and 
suck  the  life  out  of  it.  He  had  a  reason  for  want- 
ing money  at  any  cost  that  will  be  heard  of  later. 
But  stronger  now  by  far  was  the  unsatisfied  ache  of 
curiosity.  He  had  seen  Scott  and  Rupert  Dence 
coming  back  to  the  hotel  together,  suspected  their 
conference,  and  chewed  his  nails  with  agony  to  think 
that  he  had  not  been  there.  When  they  went  up 
to  Scott's  room  together,  after  dinner,  he  slipped 
round  to  the  back  verandah,  bare-footed,  and  got 
on  the  roof,  swiftly  and  without  sound.  It  would 
have  been  easier  to  go  into  an  adjoining  room  and 
put  his  ear  to  the  partition,  but  Clay  was  no  novice 
at  the  game,  and  he  guessed — rightly — that  Scott 
or  Dence  would  take  a  look  into  the  next  room 
before  settling  down  to  talk. 

The  iron  roof  sloped  low  down  upon  the  room 
beneath:  there  was  no  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  very 
little  furniture  to  deaden  sound.  Lying  on  what 
was  practically  a  vast  sounding-board,   Clay  con- 


GUINEA  GOLD  47 

trived  to  hear  most  of  what  was  said  almost  as 
plainly  as  if  he  had  been  in  the  room. 

They  were  discussing  the  cost  of  a  trip  to  the 
Kikiramu  River  goldfield,  including  four  or  five 
months'  prospecting  in  the  neighbourhood.  Dence 
put  it  down  at  £400,  and  this  seemed  to  trouble 
Scott. 

11  I  have  £300,"  he  said,  "  but  I  must  keep  a 
hundred  back  in  case  of  failure.  And  even  if  I 
didn't,  I  shouldn't  have  enough,  according  to  what 
you  say." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other  voice,  "  I  can't  put  up  a 
halfpenny  more  than  I  said,  and  that  leaves  me 
nothin'  at  all.  D'you  like  to  try  someone  else?  I 
engage  to  forget  all  about  it,  if  you  do." 

u  No,"  came  Scott's  voice  thoughtfully.  "No; 
I  won't  do  that.  I  think  I'd  like  to  have  you  in  it, 
anyhow.  It  looks  as  if  we'd  have  to  make  a  syndi- 
cate of  it.     Rather  a  pity,  but " 

11  Anderson  could  just  about  fill  the  gap.  That 
would  leave  two  shares  to  you,  and  one  each  to  him 
and  myself.    You  can  trust  Anderson  all  right." 

"  I  can  believe  that.  I  don't  know  that  we  can 
do  better.  I  haven't  taken  awfully  to  Anderson,  it's 
true,  but  that  may  be  my  fault." 

M  It  is.  Reason  why  you  took  to  me  like  winkin' 
was  because  you  knew  I  was  weaker  than  yourself. 
Reason  why  you  aren't  takin'  to  Anderson  first 
jump  is  because  he's  just  about  as  strong  a  character 
as  you  are.     You'd  shake  down  together  all  right. 


48  GUINEA  GOLD 

You  take  it  from  me,  a  fellow  that  anyone  and 
everyone  takes  to  right  off,  like  me,  is  rather  more 
likely  than  not  to  be  a  bloomin'  waster — like  me." 

"  I  never  heard  anyone  talk  like  you  in  all  my 
life,"  declared  Scott,   somewhat  puzzled. 

u  It's  only  because  I'm  so  beastly  clever.  Don't 
you  be  clever:  it's  so  jolly  bad  for  your  chances  in 
life.     However,  I  don't  think  you  need  be  afraid." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Not  at  all.  And  now  suppose  you  stop  talkin' 
all  this  beastly  frivolous  nonsense  and  get  down  to 
business." 

(Clay,  up  on  the  roof,  shifted  an  uneasy  leg  along 
the  hard  iron  ridges,  and  prepared  to  listen.) 

"  First  thing  I  want  to  tell  you  is,  you're  up 
against  the  hardest  job  you've  ever  had,  as  well  as 
the  biggest  payin',  in  this  thing.  You  don't  begin 
to  have  a  notion  what  this  country  is  like,  in  the  in- 
side— nobody  has  until  they've  seen  it.  You'll  have 
to  risk  your  life  in  a  dozen  ways:  and  you'll  have 
to  live  harder  than  you  ever  dreamed,  and  you'll 
have  to  take  what's  comin'  to  you,  even  if  it's  dyin' 
very  quickly  and  very  nastily,  without  kickin'  at  it 
by  so  much  as  half  a  word,  no  matter  what  it  is. 
That's  what  the  New  Guinea  miner  is.  He  kicks 
all  the  time  about  the  Government,  or  the  weather, 
or  the  way  his  neighbour's  usin'  up  his  water-power, 
or  things  of  that  kind — but  when  it's  starvin',  or 
dyin',  or  bein'  worked  all  out  in  a  way  you  don't 
know  the  very  beginnin's  of  yet,  or  bein'  smashed 


GUINEA  GOLD  49 

up  with  dynamite,  and  havin'  his  mates  take  off  an 
arm  or  a  leg  for  him  with  bush-knives  and  no 
chloroform,  or  any  little  thing  of  that  kind — why, 
he  takes  it  as  all  in  the  day's  work,  and  doesn't  even 
know  he's  what  people  would  call  a  brave  man. 
There's  not  another  man  but  me  in  the  whole  of  the 
diggin's  could  even  tell  you  that.  They're  so  close 
to  it  they  don't  know." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room  for  a  minute,  and 
then  Dence's  voice  recommenced. 

"  Well,  about  that  reef  of  Cripps'.  The  first 
thing  we  have  to  do  is  to  find  out  where  the  boys 
are  that  he  employed  on  his  trip,  and  get  as  many  of 
them  as  we  can.  We  might  find  out  from  them 
whereabouts  he  was  workin'.  Then  we  can  recruit 
what  more  we  want  and  start  up  the  Kikiramu  River, 
because  it's  evidently  somewhere  in  that  part  of 
the  country.  No  use  tryin'  to  work  out  the  puzzle 
part  till  we  get  there." 

"  It  sounds  simple,"  said  Scott  reflectively. 

"  Does  it?  I'm  glad;  you  just  keep  on  thinkin' 
that  way  as  long  as  you  can.  Now  I  think,  if  you'll 
be  good  enough  to  excuse  me,  I'll  go  and  spend  the 
rest  of  the  evenin'  in  my  usual  state  of  beastly 
intoxication,  and  you  can  read  the  last  annual  volume 
of  the  Reports  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Asso- 
ciation  " 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  trunk  lid  opening  here, 
and  a  pause,  broken  only  by  a  slight  rustling  of 
paper.     Then,  in  Dence's  voice — 


50  GUINEA  GOLD 

"Well,  I  am— blessed!" 

"  Receipt  for  my  last  year's  subscription.  I'm 
careful  about  receipts." 

"  Well,  I  am " 

"  So  you  said.  They've  got  a  good  library  and 
gymnasium,  you  know.  And  we  aren't  quite  as 
Christian  as  you  think.  All  the  same,  I  go  to  church 
most  Sundays.  And  I  used  to  have  a  class  in  the 
Sunday  school  whenever  they  were  short-handed." 

"  Well,  I  am — well,  they  do  say  we're  all  mad 
here,  and  there  was  once  someone  who  called  Papua 
the  Country  of  the  Impossible.  But  a  Young  Man 
Christian — a  Sunday-school  teacher — among  the  dig- 
gers !  Will  you  kindly  let  me  go  and  get  drunk  at 
once?    Good  evening.     See  you  to-morrow." 

The  footsteps  died  away  on  the  verandah.  Clay 
slipped  like  a  snake  from  the  roof  to  the  rail  and 
disappeared.  He  had  heard  enough  to  go  on  with. 
He  thought  he  should  sleep  to-night. 

Scott  slept  well,  and  did  not  dream — not  even  of 
the  Malone  Road  on  a  summer's  evening,  with  some- 
body beside  him  on  the  narrow  top  seat  of  the  tram. 
But  towards  the  morning  he  woke  up  all  of  a  sudden 
and  found  himself  sitting  upright  in  bed.  The  win- 
dow was  wide  open  to  the  breathless  night:  outside, 
about  the  top  of  a  pawpaw  tree,  the  wings  of  an 
unseen  flying-fox  thrummed  like  the  propeller  of  a 
motor-boat.  The  sea  breathed  low  on  the  reef,  very 
far  away. 

"  Charmian  Ducane!     My  God!  the  poisoner!  " 


GUINEA  GOLD  51 

He  remembered  now.  He  had  read  all  about  it 
in  the  home  papers,  just  before  he  left.  The  woman 
who  had  been  divorced  by  her  husband,  down  in 
Sydney — the  woman  in  whose  jewel-case  had  been 
found  a  bottle  of  poison,  cunningly  designed  to  kill 
without  leaving  dangerous  traces — the  woman  whose 
lover  was  a  doctor,  skilled  in  the  use  of  uncommon 
drugs — the  woman  who  had  threatened  to  kill  her 
husband,  and  had  put  the  poison  in  his  very  glass — 
the  woman  who  had  not  been  tried  for  her  life,  be- 
cause her  husband  had  not  taken  the  drink,  but  who 
had  been  divorced,  under  circumstances  of  the  deep- 
est infamy :  whose  name  was  a  byword  in  the  mouths 
of  decent  people — Charmian  Ducane !  Well  might 
he  think  he  had  heard  the  name  before.  The  heroine 
of  that  scandal — with  an  innocent,  childlike  face, 
and  soft,  frightened,  honey-sweet  eyes:  the  little  lady 
he  had  seen  walking  round  the  island. 

Well,  in  truth  this  was  the  Country  of  the  Im- 
possible, and  Charmian  Ducane  was  the  most  impos- 
sible thing  in  it. 

Scott  slept  no  more  that  night. 

It  seemed  to  Scott  that  events  had  been  raining 
very  fast  and  thick  during  the  first  day  or  two  of  his 
stay  in  the  Impossible  Country,  but  the  calm  came 
close  on  the  heels  of  the  storm. 

He  had  to  wait.  Anderson  had  gone  off  sud- 
denly, at  half  an  hour's  notice,  in  a  schooner  that 
was  running  down  to  Ferguson  Island:  he  wanted 


52  GUINEA  GOLD 

to  recruit  boys  from  that  place,  and  it  was  not  at 
all  certain  when  he  would  return.  Dence  declared 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done  for  the  present :  so  the 
"  new  chum  "  settled  down,  with  what  patience  he 
might,  to  the  waiting  and  hanging  about  that  are 
the  inevitable  portion  of  travellers  in  Papua. 

The  arrival  of  a  mail,  with  letters  for  himself, 
made  a  welcome  break.  There  was  one  from  Janie : 
the  first  he  had  had  since  leaving  home.  He  took  it 
out  with  him  to  read  at  the  windward  cool  side 
of  the  island,  where  there  was  a  comfortable 
seat  fixed  on  a  rock  looking  towards  China  Straits. 
What  the  straits  had  to  do  with  China,  Scott  never 
knew:  does  not  know  to  this  day.  Nor  did  he  ever 
find  out  why  the  authorities  of  Samarai  had  placed 
the  typical  "  lovers'  seat  "  of  the  island  right  up 
against  the  wall  of  the  explosive  magazine — unless 
through  some  symbolic  fancy  scarcely  to  be  expected 
of  a  grave  Government  official. 

Leaning  up  against  the  magazine  he  opened  his 
letter  and  read  it  through.  It  was  not  a  very  senti- 
mental letter:  Janie  was  less  sparing  of  deeds  than 
words  where  her  affections  were  concerned.  It  told 
the  little  happenings  of  her  daily  life:  spoke  of  a 
carpet  she  had  bought,  at  a  reduced  price,  which 
might  do  for  the  dining-room  of  their  house:  of  the 
Intermediate  Examinations,  in  which  her  pupils 
(Janie  was  a  school-teacher)  had  done  well:  of 
weather  and  mutual  friends.  And  at  the  last  it  broke 
into  one  little  wave  of  reminiscence : 


GUINEA  GOLD  53 

"  .  .  .  It's  summer  now,  and  the  trees  are  just 
big  castles  of  green  along  the  Lagan  River,  and 
sometimes  of  an  evening  I  go  out  for  a  walk  along 
the  tow-path,  all  by  myself.  Last  summer,  when  the 
leaves  were  out,  it  was  you  and  I  that  walked  along 
the  river.  I  wonder  will  we  ever  walk  there  again? 
Oh,  George,  the  men  who  go  away  never  know  how 
the  women  feel  who  have  to  stay  behind.  Do  you 
remember  the  song  we  used  to  sing — i  Teddy 
O'Neale  '  ? — and  how  the  colleen  said  good-bye 
'  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  a  stone  on  her  heart '  ?  I 
have  a  stone  on  my  heart  when  I  think  of  you,  and 
that  is  always. 

1  Says  he,  'twas  to  better  his  lot  he  went  roving, 
But  what  would  be  gold  to  the  joy  I  should  feel 
To  see  him  return  to  me  honest  and  loving, 
Though  poor  still,  my  darling  boy,  Teddy  O'Neale  ! ' 

Good-bye,  my  man — come  back  some  day. — Your 

"  Janie." 

Scott  grinned  as  he  folded  the  letter  and  put  it 
away.  He  was  not  in  the  least  amused,  but  he  had 
picked  up  a  mechanical  habit  of  smiling  when  he 
was  hurt.  Something  in  Janie's  letter  hurt  him:  he 
could  hardly  tell  what. 

"  They  trust  us  so,"  he  said.  "  They  trust  us 
so   .    .    ." 

He  looked  up  to  see  the  woman  from  the  bar  com- 
ing across  the  narrow  causeway  that  led  to  the  seat. 

Since  that  sudden  awaking  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  Scott  had  seen  and  heard  almost  nothing  of 
Charmian  Ducane.  He  had  not  been  into  the  bar 
again,  and  the  girl  was  seldom  seen  about.    In  truth, 


54  GUINEA  GOLD 

he  had  not  had  a  good  look  at  her,  save  on  the  day 
when  he  had  met  her  out  walking.  He  had  thought 
about  her  a  good  deal,  however, — first  with  disgust, 
then  with  curiosity,  at  last  with  a  feeling  that  there 
must  be  another  side  to  that  awful  story,  if  one  could 
only  hear  it.  I  will  not  swear  that  there  was  not 
also  a  touch  of  patronage  in  the  mental  attitude  of 
George  Scott  regarding  this  charming  little  sinner. 
The  virtuous  woman  who  honestly  feels  it  her  duty 
to  "  do  good  to  "  attractive  male  prodigals  is  not 
without  her  counterpart  in  the  opposite  sex. 

It  seemed  that  Charmian  Ducane  was  out  walking 
again.  In  the  island  town  of  Samarai  there  is  just 
one  walk — round  the  coral  path:  twenty  minutes 
slow,  fifteen  minutes  fast — and  you  are  sure  to  meet 
everyone  else  out  walking  too,  if  you  only  go  often 
enough.  Mrs.  Ducane  seemed  to  have  as  many 
rounds  of  the  island  as  she  wanted  when  she  reached 
the  magazine.  She  was  looking  tired,  and  she 
glanced  at  the  seat  desirously.  Scott  was  on  his  feet 
at  once. 

"  Please  don't  let  me  turn  you  out,"  she  said, 
looking  at  him  with  the  half-mechanical  smile  of  the 
very  pretty  woman.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  hardly 
saw  him.  She  knew  so  exactly  what  he  would  do 
and  how  he  would  look — the  long  warm  stare,  the 
gleam  of  teeth  under  an  upward  curved  moustache, 
the  little  bend  of  homage,  the  old,  familiar  phrase — 
men  had  so  few — "  Delighted !  "  "  It's  a  pleasure !  " 


GUINEA  GOLD  55 

"  Only  too  glad !  "  .  .  .  But  the  man  said  nothing  at 
all.  He  merely  lifted  his  hat  for  an  instant,  and  then 
took  his  seat  again.  And  Charmian  Ducane  dropped 
down  rather  wearily  at  the  other  end  of  the  bench. 
She  supposed  it  would  only  be  a  minute  or  two 
until  her  companion  began  edging  up  to  her  end  and 
looking  under  her  hat,  and  when  that  began  she 
would  get  up  and  go,  as  she  always  did.  For  the 
moment  she  might  rest. 

But  the  man  sat  quite  still  and  looked  out  to  sea. 

Charmian  began  to  wonder. 

If  she  had  only  known,  the  man  was  wondering 
too:  and  the  subject  of  his  wondering  was — "  How 
could  anyone  say  she  did?  "  He  had  had  one  good 
look  at  her  this  time.  The — pretty  picture-poster 
face  was  overlaid  with  a  certain  surface  coquetry,  but 
underneath  there  was 

Purity.  Yes.  He  would  have  staked  his  life 
on  it. 

Charmian  also  had  had  one  good  look  since  she 
sat  down.  She  had  been  curious  about  the  new- 
comer, and  wondered  what  his  business  in  Papua 
might  be.  She  liked  the  look  of  his  fine  height  and 
strong  make:  his  Northern  fairness  and  his  steady 
grey  eyes. 

"  I  suppose  he  is  just  like  all  other  men  when  you 
get  to  know  him,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  but  he 
looks  .  .  .  kind.  O  God!  men  aren't  kind,  what- 
ever they  look.  You  always  think  they  are,  and 
then  .    .    .  you  find  out. 


56  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  He  will  tell  me  it  is  a  cool  day,  by  and  by,"  she 
thought.  "  And  then  he  will  ask  me  if  I  admire  the 
scenery.  And  then  he  will  say  all  the  usual  things. 
They  are  never  different,  really." 

But  the  man  still  said  nothing. 

The  blood-warm  water  beat  upon  the  rocks,  toss- 
ing up  foam.  The  dry,  sword-shaped  leaves  of  the 
stilt-legged  pandanus  behind  the  magazine  rustled 
thirstily.  Some  minutes  passed.  Then  Scott  stirred 
as  if  about  to  go. 

And  Mrs.  Ducane  said  hurriedly — 

"  It  is  almost  a  cool  day,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  comparatively  cool,"  answered  Scott,  turn- 
ing his  head  politely  and  pushing  back  his  Panama 
to  feel  the  breeze. 

"  He  has  a  forehead  like  a  child,"  thought  the 
woman.  .  .  .  "  Don't  you  admire  the  scenery  here 
very  much?  " 

Then  happened  a  thing  that  Scott  has  never  been 
able  to  account  for.  Instead  of  replying  that  he 
did  admire  the  scenery  very  much,  and  thought  the 
views  from  the  coral  walk  unequalled,  he  spoke 
straight  out  what  was  in  his  mind — what  he  had 
been  turning  over  and  over,  ever  since  the  girl  from 
the  bar  sat  down  on  the  rustic  seat. 

"  You  are  Mrs.  Ducane,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  be- 
lieve it  was  true.     I  can't,  somehow." 

The  honey-brown  eyes  grew  suddenly  darker  with 
the  dilation  of  their  pupils.  It  was  plain  that 
Charmian  was  moved.     It  was  also  plain  that  she 


GUINEA  GOLD  57 

might  have  shed  tears  if  she  had  not  been  tired  of 
crying.  The  swollen  skin  under  the  eyes  proved 
that,  and  the  tiny  droop  at  the  corners  of  the  mouth. 
How  much  pain  must  a  woman — a  girl — endure  be- 
fore she  grows  weary  of  tears? 

"  A  great  many  people  have  said  that,"  answered 
the  soft,  tired  voice.     "  I  don't  think  they  meant  it." 

"  Well,  I  should  think  you  must  know  I  do,"  said 
Scott.  Where  was  the  virtuous  thought  of  u  im- 
proving "  wicked  Charmian?  .  .  .  Where  were  the 
sun-dried  spots  of  spume  that  had  fallen  on  the 
burning  rocks  half  an  hour  before? 

"  I  don't  know.     If  I  told  you— but "     She 

hesitated. 

Scott  was  unlike  his  new  friend  Dence  in  that  he 
hated  to  be  confided  in.  He  saw  it  was  coming 
now,  and  he  set  his  teeth,  mentally. 

11  But — I  don't  know  you,  and  I  suppose  you 
would  not  be  interested,"  said  Charmian,  with  a 
sudden  change  of  mind. 

Scott  was  amazed  at  the  pang  of  disappointment 
that  shot  across  his  mind.  He  felt  absurdly  like 
the  lady  of  the  comic  papers  who  has  braced  herself 
reluctantly  to  meet  the  shock  of  a  proposal,  only  to 
find  that  it  dpes  not  come  after  all. 

"  I  would  be  interested,"  he  said  promptly.  "  I 
would  be  very  much  interested." 

After  all, — blue  air  and  sea,  gold  sun  and  waving 
palms,  the  turn  of  a  romantic  country,  and  a  beau- 
tiful penitent  ready  to  pour  out  her  heart  into  your 


58  GUINEA  GOLD 

more  or  less  sympathetic  ear, — it  was  a  moving 
situation,  Scott  did  not  think  at  all  that  this 
Charmian  was  a  white-winged  angel:  but  he  was 
ready  to  believe  that  her  feathers  were  a  good  deal 
less  black  than  they  had  been  painted. 

"  Well,"  said  the  girl,  speaking  in  a  tired,  monot- 
onous tone,  like  one  who  has  said  the  same  thing 
over  and  over  till  it  has  almost  lost  meaning — "  the 
things  they  said  weren't  true.  I  never  gave  any  just 
cause  for  a  divorce.  I  never  tried  to,  or  wanted  to, 
poison  anyone.  I  did  say  I  wished  my  husband  were 
dead,  and  I  did  say  I  would  kill  him  some  day.  Mil- 
lions of  women  say  and  think  the  same  thing,  but 
they  don't  really  mean  it.  I  did  like  that  doctor, 
until  I  found  out  what  he  was.  It  was  because  I  sent 
him  away  that  he  would  not  tell  the  truth.  He  gave 
me  the  medicine  for  myself:  it  was  a  nerve  tonic,  and 
it  was  poisonous  if  you  took  it  in  anything  but  very 
small  doses.  I  thought  perhaps  if  things  got  worse, 
and  if  I'd  the  courage,  I  would  kill  myself,  so  I  put 
it  in  my  jewel-case  to  be  safe.  And  I  went  so  far 
as  to  pour  some  of  it  in  a  glass,  and  my  husband 
found  it.  And  the  man  lied  about  that  and  every- 
thing else.     So  it  looked  badly.     And  my  husband 

believed Well,  anyone  would  have:  everyone 

does.  But  it  wasn't  true.  That  man  compromised 
me  on  purpose,  thinking  if  Mr.  Ducane — he  was 
my  cousin,  so  I  have  the  same  name  still — if  Mr. 
Ducane  divorced  me  on  his  account,  I  should  have 
to  marry  him.    Mr.  Ducane  never  would  have  sued 


GUINEA  GOLD  59 

for  a  divorce,  only  for  the  idea  that  I  had  tried  to 
poison  him:  he  just  went  mad  about  that,  and 
wouldn't  listen  to  anything  anyone  said.  You  see,  he 
made  a  kind  of  slave  of  me.  I  married  him  when  I 
was  seventeen,  and  he  never  let  me  have  a  thought 
of  my  own.  He  loved  me,  I  suppose:  I  could  have 
got  on  somehow  or  other  if  he  hadn't,  but  that  was 
what  made  it  hateful,  because  he  knew  I  never  cared 
for  him,  and  he  just  kept  me  chained.  I  was  afraid 
of  him,  and  I  hated  him — I  .    .    .  hated  .    .    .  him." 

Her  little  knuckles  tightened  till  the  bones  showed 
white. 

"  It  makes  you  feel  so  wicked.  You  can't  think. 
If  I'd  done  everything  they  said,  I  don't  think  I'd 
feel  as  wicked  as  I  do  whenever  I  think  of  him.  It 
makes  one  feel  one  isn't  anything  human,  but  just  a 
sort  of  devil,  to  hate  anyone  like  that.  I — I'm  not  a 
strong  sort  of  character.  I'm  rather  weak;  and  he 
had  hold  of  my  soul  with  his  great  coarse  hands — 
somehow.  I  couldn't  even  find  strength,  ever  since  I 
was  seventeen,  and  I'm  twenty-four  now — I  couldn't 
even  run  away  from  him  all  by  myself.  When  he 
left  me,  and  wrote  that  he  was  going  to  divorce  me, 
and  have  me  tried  for  my  life  if  he  could,  I — I — I 
was  glad,  when  I  could  get  breath  enough  to  think. 
I  thought  of  never  seeing  him  again,  and  it  seemed 
like  heaven.  I  just  didn't  think  beyond  the  divorce. 
.  .  .  But  then,  you  see,  I  had  to  think,  because  there 
was  no  money,  and  when  the  decree  was  given,  the 
other  men — the  other  men  ..." 


60  GUINEA  GOLD 

She  was  almost  crying  again:  but  it  seemed  as  if 
the  tears  would  not  come:  as  if  they  had  been  all 
cried  away.  There  was  a  thickness  in  her  voice  as 
she  went  on — 

"  They  all  believed  .  .  .  everything.  They  came 
like  crows  round  a  corpse.  ...  I  went  to  a  pawn- 
shop in  the  dark  and  sold  everything  I  had.  I  saw 
an  advertisement  in  the  Herald  for  a  resident  gov- 
erness for  Samarai,  to  teach  the  families  of  several 
people — music,  and  so  on.  I  answered  it,  and  hid 
away  till  I  heard.  They  said  I  could  come.  ...  I 
called  myself  '  Mary  Ducane  ' — Mary  is  my  sec- 
ond name.  But  when  I  came  up  here  they  had  seen 
the  pictures  in  the  papers,  and  they  knew,  and  they 
said  .  .  .  Oh,  it  doesn't  matter.  But  I  was  so  glad 
when  the  Figgs  took  me  as  barmaid.  They're  kind, 
and  the  work  isn't  nearly  as  bad  as  I  thought  it 
would  be.  Nobody  is  rude.  You  wouldn't  think  how 
good  those  miners  are.  I  was  most  afraid  of  them 
of  all — but  one  day  a  commercial  traveller  from 
the  boat  hung  over  the  bar  and  tried  to  kiss  me,  and 
one  of  the  miners  took  him  and  flung  him  right 
out  into  the  gutter,  and  said  he  and  the  others  would 
do  the  same  for  anyone  who  dared  to  treat  that  lady 
disrespectfully.  .  .  .  And  you  know,  they  must  all 
think  .  .  .  everyone  does.  You  do  too:  you  need 
not  trouble  to  tell  me  you  don't." 

She  ceased  speaking.  .  .  .  How  fierce  was  the 
blue  flame  of  the  sea !  how  dazzling  and  shadeless 
the  green  fire  of  the  low-growing  bush  upon  the 


GUINEA  GOLD  61 

white-sanded  islands!  Out  in  the  straits  a  black 
three-cornered  fin,  shaped  like  the  sail  of  Death's 
own  boat,  cruised  up  and  down,  questing  for  prey. 
A  cruel,  formidable  land,  this  Papua,  for  all  its 
beauty:  a  land  for  strong  men  to  seize  and  break 
and  tame,  it  might  be,  but  for  little,  weak,  unhappy 
women?   .    .    . 

Scott  was  strangely  moved.  The  tired,  sweet 
voice:  the  uncomplaining  tone:  the  certainty  of  be- 
ing misunderstood  and  disbelieved,  now  and  always, 
that  ran  like  a  sad  accompaniment  to  a  plaintive 
song  all  through  Charmian's  simply  told  story — 
these  things  seemed  to  him,  somehow,  intolerable. 
Why  should  she  suffer  so?  Could  not  anyone  help? 
Could  not  he? 

He  turned  round  to  face  her,  on  the  bench,  push- 
ing back  his  hat  again,  as  was  his  way  when  excited. 
Charmian  thought  once  more,  u  How  noble,  how 
good  he  looks !  If  any  man  in  the  world  were  really 
what  some  of  them  seem !  "  He  spoke  with  de- 
liberate, deep  emphasis. 

"  I  believe  every  word  you  say,  Mrs.  Ducane.  If 
it  helps  you  at  all  to  know  that,  I'm  very  glad  indeed. 
If  I  could  do  anything  for  you  .    .    . " 

The  woman  laughed  a  bitter  little  laugh. 

"What  can  a  man  do  for  a  woman?"  she  said. 
"  When  a  man  says  that,  he  doesn't  mean  anything. 
Or  rather,  he  does  mean  '  anything,'  and  anything's 
nothing." 

"  Well,  if  you  can  tell  me  what  I  could  do.  .   .   . 


62  GUINEA  GOLD 

I'm  sorry.     Believe  me,  I — I  am — I — what  can  one 

say?     Words  are  such  useless Mrs.  Ducane, 

can  you  ask  me  to  do  anything?  Ask  me  what  you 
like." 

"  There's  nothing,"  said  the  girl.  "  I've  got  to 
work  out  my  future  by  myself.  If  I  didn't  get  so 
tired.  .  .  .  But  that's  not  being  brave,  and  I  just 
have  got  to  be  brave:  that's  all  that's  left  me.  I 
do  think  you  have  helped  me  a  little,  if  you  like  to 
know — just  by  talking  to  me  as  a  human  being.  If 
you  knew  how  sick  a  pretty  woman  gets  of  being 
taken  always  from  the  one  point  of  view — of  acting 
the  part  of  Circe  and  turning  people  into  brutes — 
though  she  may  hate  it  all  the  time — well,  you'd 
understand  why  this  talk  has  been  like  a — like  a 
drink  of  fresh  water  when  one  has  had  nothing  but 
syrups  and  brandies.  There,  that  reminds  me  of 
my  work:  I've  stayed  out  far  too  long.  No,  don't 
come  with  me — I  like  to  be  alone.  Good-bye — and — 
thank  you." 

When  Scott  went  back  to  the  hotel  he  found 
Rupert  Dence  extended  on  a  long  chair  on  the  veran- 
dah, smoking. 

"  Will  you  come  and  go  over  those  figures  again 
with  me  when  you've  finished  your  smoke?  "  he  said. 
He  was  feeling  jovial  and  good-humoured  and  in- 
clined for  work.  Doubtless  this  was  due  to  the 
south-east  wind  which  had  sprung  up  strongly  in 
the  course  of  the  afternoon,  cooling  and  clearing  the 
hothouse  atmosphere  of  the  island. 


GUINEA  GOLD  63 

Dence  got  up  from  the  lounge  and  walked  off 
towards  his  own  room.  There  was  a  sulky  look  in 
his  usually  amiable  blue  eyes. 

"  Don't  feel  like  it,"  he  said. 

"  Fever?  "  queried  Scott. 

"  Perfectly  fit,  thanks.  Just  been  for  a  walk 
round  the  island."  He  went  into  his  room  and 
slammed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  V 

Charmian  Ducane,  gentlewoman  by  birth,  and 
barmaid  at  the  Federal,  had  always  been  a  lonely 
little  soul. 

Men's  admiration,  it  was  true,  she  had  had  in 
overflowing  plenty,  ever  since,  at  barely  fourteen 
years  of  age,  her  singular  prettiness  began  to  de- 
velop under  the  influence  of  the  burning  Queensland 
suns.  She  was  an  orphan,  brought  up  by  a  some- 
what cold  and  unsympathetic  English  grandmother, 
who  smelled  evidence  of  bush-ranging  ancestry  in 
every  departure  from  the  standards  of  South  Ken- 
sington. And  Charmian  had  none  of  the  blood  of 
South  Kensington  in  her  veins.  She  was  her  mother's 
daughter  all  in  all — the  child  of  beautiful  Mary 
Eves,  whose  father  .  .  .  Well,  in  the  old  Queensland 
days  nobody  thought  cattle-lifting  the  worst  of 
crimes :  and  a  too  hasty  use  of  rifle  or  revolver  was 
easily  forgiven. 

Charmian  "  took  after  "  the  Eves'  side  of  the 
family.  Grant  Ducane,  her  second  cousin,  resembled 
the  English  side.  Charmian  used  to  think  it  was 
small  wonder  the  Ducanes  had  emigrated  to  Aus- 
tralia :  surely  any  country  that  was  cursed  with  the 
whole  family  would  do  its  best  to  get  rid  of  as  many 

64 


GUINEA  GOLD  65 

as  possible.  .  .  .  And  at  seventeen  years  of  age 
she  married  Grant. 

She  was  not  in  love  with  him.  But  old  Mrs. 
Ducane  was  dying:  there  was  no  money  in  the  family 
except  what  Grant  possessed,  and  everybody  said 
little  Charmian  would  come  to  a  bad  end  if  she  were 
not  looked  after.  She  had  had  admirer  after  ad- 
mirer, all  penniless  and  few  "  serious  ":  she  had 
been  half  engaged  to  one  at  fifteen,  entangled  with 
two  a  year  later,  and  jilted  another  before  her  next 
birthday.  She  did  not  care  particularly  about  any 
of  the  crowd — who  cares  for  what  is  won  so  cheaply? 
— and  when  Grant  told  her  she  was  going  to  marry 
him,  she  accepted  the  fact  with  resignation,  not  un- 
mixed with  pleasure.  There  would  be  a  wedding, 
and  a  white  satin  dress  with  a  long  train,  and  a  cake, 
and  a  bridal  journey — all  sorts  of  pleasant  things, 
with  only  Grant  to  take  the  edge  off  them.  And 
Grant  had  always  been  a  kill-joy  in  her  life:  he 
wouldn't  be  any  worse  now.  He  was  so  old — 
thirty-five  or  more — she  hardly  felt  as  if  he  could 
have  much  to  do  with  her.  They  would  go  their 
different  ways,  like  lots  of  married  people.  And  it 
was  something  to  have  a  house  of  one's  own — be- 
sides the  wedding  fun. 

She  did  not  get  the  wedding  fun.  Grant  did  not 
want  to  be  laughed  at  for  marrying  a  girl  nearly 
twenty  years  younger  than  himself:  he  insisted  that 
the  grandmother  and  Charmian  should  travel  to 
Brisbane  and  have  a  private  ceremony  early  in  the 


66  GUINEA  GOLD 

morning.  There  was  not  even  a  cake.  There  was 
no  white  satin  dress — the  little  bride  cried  her  eyes 
red  over  this  the  night  before  the  wedding,  and 
Grant  scolded  her  next  day  for  having  made  a 
figure  of  herself.  There  was  no  house  of  her  own. 
Grant's  business  took  him  to  a  dull  inland  town  and 
they  lived  there  in  an  hotel.  They  went  straight  to 
the  hotel  from  Brisbane,  and  there  was  no  wedding- 
tour.  Charmian  wondered  indignantly  what  was 
the  good  of  getting  married  at  all. 

She  discovered  before  long  that  it  was  possible  to 
hate  Grant  much  more  than  she  had  ever  done  be- 
fore. She  discovered  that  other  men  were  sorry  for 
her,  and  that  they  seemed  very  kind.  There  were 
storms  that  gave  the  other  people  endless  food  for 
talk.  And  the  women  began  to  look  coldly  on 
Charmian. 

She  discovered  more  things  as  the  months  and 
years  went  by.  She  discovered  that  the  other  men 
were  not  really  kind  at  all,  only  wicked.  She  cried 
and  cried  when  she  found  this  out.  What  was  she  to 
do  when  the  women  hated  her  and  the  men  were 
wicked?  Was  she  never  to  have  anyone  to  talk 
to?  She  grew  ill  with  worry  of  mind,  and  a  doctor 
was  called  in.  He  seemed  different  from  all  the  rest, 
and  Charmian,  only  three-and-twenty  as  yet,  confided 
all  her  troubles  to  him.  She  told  him  how  she  hated 
Grant,  and  what  a  lonely  life  she  had.  She  told 
him  that  the  other  men  were  wicked.  The  doctor 
was   sympathetic   and   patient:   he   was   rather   re- 


GUINEA  GOLD  67 

ligious  too,  and  that  pleased  Charmian:  when  a  man 
quoted  texts  to  you — the  Song  of  Solomon  and  other 
Bible  things — he  could  not  be  bad.  Charmian,  at 
this  period  of  her  married  life,  used  to  pray  for  the 
doctor  every  night,  and  quite  seriously  thank  Heaven 
for  having  sent  him  to  her.  She  did  not  like  wicked 
people,  and  there  were  so  many  in  the  world,  and 
they  all  wanted  you  to  be  like  themselves.  The 
doctor  told  her  he  loved  her  for  her  purity  of  soul. 

It  was  after  this  that  the  explosion  came — the 
volcanic  eruption  that  laid  waste  the  dull  and  homely 
garden  of  Charmian's  life,  and  cast  her  out  to  wan- 
der in  the  wilderness.  She  never  knew  how  they 
missed  that  train,  lost  their  way,  got  left  in  the  little 
country  inn.  The  doctor  knew,  but  he  never  told. 
He  told  her  a  great  many  other  things — things  she 
had  never  thought  to  hear  from  him — but  not  that. 
Charmian,  burning  with  indignation  and  sobbing 
with  bitter  disappointment,  went  home  next  day  to 
tell  her  husband,  and  bear  his  sarcasm,  his  reproofs, 
even  perhaps  his  violence.  "  It  will  only  be  another 
row,"  she  said  to  herself  .  .  .  there  had  been  so 
many,  though  he  was  always  saying  he  loved  her. 

Grant  Ducane  was  gone.  Their  rooms  were 
given  up.  There  was  a  letter  for  her,  written  that 
morning  and  left  with  the  manageress.  The  woman 
stood  by  and  watched  her  read  it,  with  a  greedy 
eye.  Charmian  was  always  sorry  that  she  had  so 
nearly  fainted — it  must  have  pleased  the  harpy  who 
watched  her. 


68  GUINEA  GOLD 

The  letter  told  her  that  he  had  found  her  out,  that 
he  would  have  her  disgraced  and  imprisoned,  and 
that  she  had  no  home  with  him  any  more. 

She  lived  on  the  remains  of  her  last  quarter's 
allowance  till  the  case  came  on.  She  was  not  ar- 
rested on  the  poisoning  charge,  for  Grant  Ducane 
had  found  there  was  not  evidence  enough.  Never- 
theless, he  believed  firmly  that  his  downtrodden  little 
wife  had  intended  to  free  herself  by  a  crime,  and 
during  the  hearing  of  the  divorce  case  his  counsel 
brought  in  so  many  references  to  the  unlucky  bottle 
in  the  jewel-case,  to  Charmian's  one  frantic  threat,  to 
a  certain  dose  of  the  poison,  mixed  and  poured  into 
a  glass  Ducane  occasionally  used,  that  for  some  time 
the  question  of  arrest  really  did  hang  in  the  balance. 
On  the  public  mind  the  final  effect  was  much  the 
same  as  if  Charmian  had  been  tried  and  barely  ac- 
quitted. Most  people  believed  she  intended  to  com- 
pass the  death  of  Grant. 

The  divorce  was  given  without  question.  The 
doctor  denied  everything  smilingly,  and  as  if  from 
mere  conventional  motives.  Charmian's  innocent 
walks  and  talks,  the  incidents  of  her  illness,  the 
stay  at  the  hotel,  all  appeared  black  as  night, 
under  the  clever  handling  of  Ducane's  counsel.  The 
doctor  employed  no  counsel  at  all.  He  knew  him- 
self to  be  ruined  professionally,  but  he  had  come 
into  money  not  long  before,  and  could  snap  his 
fingers  at  that.  He  expected  to  marry  Mrs.  Ducane 
in  six  months'  time:  true,   she  had  expressed  the 


GUINEA  GOLD  69 

strongest  disgust  and  hatred  for  him;  but,  after  all, 
she  had  been  very  fond  of  him  to  begin  with,  and 
what  could  she  do  for  a  living? 

What  Charmian  did  has  been  told.  She  was 
mortally  afraid  of  the  doctor,  as  she  was  afraid  of 
the  man  from  whom  she  had  been  freed.  She  did 
not  think  it  impossible  that  her  lover  might  succeed 
in  worrying  and  driving  her  into  a  marriage — the 
little  creature  felt  herself,  instinctively,  destined  to 
be  a  quarry  in  the  struggle  of  life.  But  hunted 
beasts  are  swift,  if  they  are  not  brave.  She  fled. 
New  Guinea  seemed  to  her  a  sanctuary,  by  reason 
of  its  remoteness,  and  once  landed  under  the  leaning 
palms  of  Samarai  she  felt  safe. 

The  insult  that  had  driven  her  into  the  bar  of 
Figg's  hotel  really  did  not  trouble  her  much. 
Women  had  always  been  hateful  to  her:  had  always 
talked  and  hinted  and  cast  sly  stones.  They  were  a 
little  more  open  now:  that  was  all.  She  was  very 
lonely  at  times.  But  then,  she  had  been  lonely  all 
her  life. 

She  liked  Rupert  Dence.  He  had  been  senti- 
mental about  her  from  the  first,  just  like  all  the  other 
men,  and  when  she  told  him  something  of  her  story, 
he  had  promptly  said  he  believed  her.  She  felt, 
indeed,  that,  whether  he  did  believe  or  not,  he  didn't 
care — that  if  the  tales  had  been  true  he  would  have 
shot  those  long  glances  from  his  sleepy  blue  eyes  at 
her,  and  pressed  her  fingers  when  she  handed  him 
his  glass,  just  the  same.    That,  she  supposed,  was  as 


70  GUINEA  GOLD 

much  credit  as  she  could  ever  expect  from  anyone 
again.  And  poor  Rupert,  if  he  had  not  been  such  a 
drinker,  was  a  lovable  soul.  As  to  the  drinking — 
well,  you  cannot  act  as  barmaid  in  an  Australasian 
hotel  for  several  months  without  losing  a  good  deal 
of  the  ordinary  feeling  on  such  matters.  Charmian 
was  rather  in  danger  of  classing  her  men  friends,  in 
these  days,  by  the  various  ways  in  which  they  got 
drunk.  Some  were  so  much  less  objectionable  than 
others. 

Then  came  George  Scott. 

He  did  not  drink  at  all,  after  the  first  evening. 
He  went  to  church  on  Sundays,  whenever  the  mis- 
sionary held  service.  He  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  native  girls.  He  did  not  swear  (Charmian  had 
never  heard  him  in  an  engine-room  wrestling  with 
a  refractory  piece  of  machinery).  He  was  a  gen- 
tleman every  inch,  in  spite  of  his  hardened  hands: 
and  he  treated  her  like  a  gentlewoman.  And  he 
was  brave.  One  of  the  pearling  men  from  the  Tro- 
briand  Islands,  where  the  saints  do  not  come  from, 
called  him  a  "  wowser,"  on  a  certain  Sunday  morn- 
ing, as  the  Ulsterman  was  starting  out  to  church. 
Scott  did  not  understand  the  term  at  first,  but  being 
told  by  a  Melbourne  traveller  that  it  meant,  in  the 
"  Australian  language,"  the  most  offensive  kind  of 
canting  sneak  and  hypocrite,  he  said  that  it  was  a 
work  of  piety  and  necessity  to  teach  the  pearler 
better,  and  that  he  would  stay  home  and  do  it. 
On  which  the  whole  population  of  Figg's  adjourned 


GUINEA  GOLD  71 

to  the  top  of  the  island,  where  they  spent  the  hours 
of  divine  service  enjoying  the  spectacle  of  the  best 
fight  that  Samarai  had  seen  since  the  good  old,  bad 
old  Crown  Colony  days.  The  pearler  was  the  worse 
damaged  of  the  two,  and  public  opinion  voted  him 
"  served  right."  Scott  went  to  evening  church,  black 
eyes,  swollen  nose,  and  all.  He  said  he  would  teach 
any  confounded  beach-comber  in  the  Pacific  to  dic- 
tate to  a  decent  Belfast  man:  but  it  seemed  that  no 
beach-comber,  confounded  or  otherwise,  desired  any 
further  lessons  on  the  subject. 

Charmian  was  delighted:  she  had  not  very  much 
religion  herself  of  any  kind,  but  she  could  not  help 
respecting  a  man  who  was  ready  to  defend  his  beliefs 
so  vigorously.  It  was  about  this  time  that  she  began 
watching  for  Scott's  boots  on  the  staircase.  From 
the  back  of  the  bar  you  could  see  the  boots  of  people 
going  up  and  down  the  stairs,  though  you  could  not 
see  their  bodies  or  faces  until  they  crossed  the  hall 
and  came  out  into  the  street — and  if  you  were  busy 
serving  at  the  crucial  moment  you  did  not  see  them 
at  all,  which  was  bitterly  disappointing.  She  got  to 
know  every  pair  of  boots  and  shoes  the  young  Ul- 
sterman  possessed,  as  well  as  she  knew  her  own  face 
in  the  glass.  By  and  by  she  used  to  feel  a  jump 
of  the  heart  that  nearly  made  her  drop  the  tumblers 
when  that  pair  of  brown  boots  with  the  heavy  strap- 
ping, or  the  black  leather  shoes  with  the  wide  laces, 
or  the  canvas  deck-shoes,  trodden  long  and  narrow 
by  the  light  Irish  foot,  came  quickly  down  the  stair- 


72  GUINEA  GOLD 

case.  She  didn't  want  Scott  to  drink  like  some  of 
the  others,  but  she  did  wish  he  would  come  in  now 
and  then  for  a  glass  of  beer — where  was  the  harm  of 
that?    A  man  needn't  be  so  very,  very  good. 

She  began  to  be  conscious  now  of  a  gnawing  little 
hunger  that  beset  her  every  morning  when  she  had 
not  seen  Scott  since  the  previous  night.  It  was  a 
desire  to  look  at  him  again.  She  used  to  come  out 
into  the  front  of  the  bar  and  stand  in  the  breeze, 
because  it  was  so  hot.  .  .  .  From  this  point  of  view 
you  could  see  people  going  upstairs — all  of  them.  A 
good  view  of  the  clean  white  "  patrol  "  suit,  with  the 
fair  bright  head  topping  it,  seemed  to  give  her 
enough  to  go  on  with  for  the  morning.  But  after 
that  the  hunger  would  begin  again,  and  the  sight  of 
a  pair  of  long  narrow  shoes  taking  the  stairs  three 
at  a  time  was  no  better  than  a  crumb  of  bread  to  a 
starving  man.  She  did  not  know  how  to  live  till 
four  o'clock, — when  one  was  off  duty  one  could  go 
round  the  island,  and  sometimes  one  passed  the  white 
patrol  suit  on  the  coral  track  so  near  that  one  could 
see  the  very  threads  in  the  stuff.  Every  time  she  met 
Scott,  after  an  interval  of  half  a  day  or  so,  she  de- 
cided that  his  face  was  better-looking  than  she  had 
remembered  it.  She  was  never  quite  sure  that  his 
eyebrows  were  really  jet-black,  in  spite  of  his  fair 
hair,  until  she  had  had  another  look.  "  If  he  were  a 
girl,"  she  said,  "  nobody  would  think  it  real."  And 
she  could  never  believe  that  his  forehead  was  really 
so  white  and  so  broad  and  smooth,  just  like  a  little 


GHJINEA  GOLD  73 

child's,  till  she  had  seen  it  again.  "  It  makes  him 
look  so  innocent,"  she  said.  "  But  men  are  not — 
none  of  them  are  really  good." 

She  could  not  understand  why  he  did  not  talk  to 
her  more.  After  that  hour  on  the  bench  beside  the 
magazine,  when  he  had  been  so  kind, — or  seemed  so 
kind:  she  had  to  remind  herself  that  it  was  always 
seeming, — she  had  certainly  expected  that  he  would 
ask  her  to  go  a  walk  with  him,  or  come  into  the 
bar  for  a  bottle  of  mineral  waters,  or  linger  near  her 
corner  of  the  verandah  when  she  was  likely  to  come 
out  of  her  room.  He  did  not.  He  looked  at  her 
in  a  merry,  bright-eyed  Irish  way  when  they  met  by 
accident,  and  sometimes  he  stopped  for  a  moment's 
talk — but  Rupert  Dence  took  three  times  as  much 
trouble  to  please  her.  Dence  used  to  go  over  to  the 
islands  in  the  Straits  to  find  bush  flowers  that  she 
liked:  he  was  always  asking  her  to  go  boating,  and 
sometimes  she  went, — and  he  was  never  out  of  the 
bar.  Even  when  he  had  taken  too  much  whiskey,  as 
he  did  every  night,  he  was  civil  and  kind  to  her: 
when  he  found  he  had  almost  reached  his  limit  he 
would  slip  away  as  best  he  could,  to  avoid  offending 
her  eyes.  If  he  grew  violent,  it  was  always  after  she 
had  gone  to  bed  and  Figg  had  taken  her  place  in 
the  bar.  Rupert,  according  to  his  lights,  thought 
much  of  her,  and  considered  her. 

Did  Scott? 

Well,  yes,  she  thought  he  did.  She  had  no  reasons 
at  all  for  thinking  so,  which  made  her  all  the  more 


74  GUINEA  GOLD 

certain.  But  if  he  did,  why  did  he  stay — just  where 
he  was?  Other  men  were  ready  enough,  and  quick 
enough,  if  they  got  so  much  as  a  crumb  of  encour- 
agement: sometimes  when  they  got  none.  And 
Scott  .    .    . 

She  did  not  understand  him. 

In  the  long  days  that  had  to  be  worn  through 
somehow,  waiting  for  Anderson's  return,  Scott 
avoided  much  intimate  conversation  with  himself. 
He  had  the  habit  of  hard  work,  and  made  it  serve 
him.  There  was  a  steam  launch  that  had  been  sunk 
and  salvaged:  her  engineer  found  the  job  of  repair- 
ing the  machinery  almost  too  much  for  him,  and 
Scott,  with  his  solid  Belfast  training  at  his  back,  and 
his  kindly  will  to  help  anyone  who  needed  helping, 
came  in  at  the  right  moment,  like  an  angel  into, 
rather  than  out  of,  a  machine.  The  engineer's  trou- 
bles melted  in  a  morning,  and  his  heart  was  filled 
with  gratitude  for  this  aristocrat  of  his  profession 
who  was  so  ready  to  waive  his  superior  position,  and 
come  down  to  labour  all  day  among  strained  and 
rusted  machinery  with  a  little  Tyneside  rat  who  had 
never  a  certificate  to  his  name,  nor  a  shade  of  gentle 
manners  in  his  whole  composition. 

Working  hard  all  day  in  a  tropical  climate,  and 
going  to  bed  early,  left  not  much  time  or  inclination 
for  musing.  Scott  did  not  muse.  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, irrelevant  scraps  of  poetry  would  float  into  his 
brain  and  stick  there  an  entire  day,  keeping  time 


GUINEA  GOLD  75 

to  the  sound  of  his  tools  on  the  rusted  steel,  or  to  the 
low  "  sss-frssh  "  of  the  waves  on  the  spit  of  sand 
where  they  worked.  .  .  .  There  was  a  poem  of 
Adam  Lindsay  Gordon's :  he  could  only  recall  stray 
fragments,  but  they  haunted  him  all  one  burning 
day,  when  the  trades  had  blown  themselves  out,  and 
the  sea  was  white-hot  glass,  and  Normanby  Island's 
three  thousand  feet  of  sapphire  cliff  stood  pale  and 
clear  on  the  horizon  of  the  Straits,  forty  miles 
away. 

"...  You  in  your  beauty  above  me  bent, 
Spoke  to  me,  touched  me  without  intent, 
Made  me  your  servant  for  once  and  all. 

From  a  long  way  off,  to  look  at  your  charms 
Made  my  blood  run  redder  in  every  vein.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  The  gusts  in  the  gloomy  gorges  whirl 
Brown  leaves  and  red  till  they  cover  your  bed — 
Now  I  trust  that  your  sleep  is  a  sound  one,  girl!" 

Would  she  live  long — that  beautiful,  ill-fated  soul? 

"Now  I  trust  that  your  sleep  is  a  sound  one,  girl!" 

The  sea  was  saying  it:  the  hot  waves  that  crisped 
upon  the  blinding  shore.  Would  she  be  sorry  when 
the  long  sleep  came?    Would  it  come  soon? 

1  Desdemona  should  have  been  her  name,"  some- 
thing inside  the  man  was  saying.  "  Desdemona — ill- 
fated." 

u  If  you  wouldn't  mind  'olding  that  axle  a  bit 
stiddier  "...    came  the  apologetic  voice  of  the 


76  GUINEA  GOLD 

little  man  from  Tyneside.  And  Scott  begged  his 
pardon.  "  Give  it  to  me,"  he  said.  "  You'd  better 
do  the  holding,  and  I'll  fix  it." 

u  Do  you  take  quinin'  now  and  again?  You 
should,"  said  the  other.  u  You  look  as  if  a  dose 
wouldn't  do  you  any  'arm.  That  fever's  always  on 
the  pounce  after  a  new  chum." 

Next  day  it  rained:  a  roaring,  stamping,  drown- 
ing rain,  that  made  the  Ulsterman  understand  once 
for  all  how  the  two-fathom  annual  rainfall  of  Sama- 
rai  came  about.  It  was  impossible  to  go  on  with  the 
launch.  One  could  only  tramp  restlessly  up  and 
down  the  verandahs,  looking  out  through  a  grey  cur- 
tain upon  drowned  white  coral  streets,  downbeaten 
pawpaws,  flooded  cricket-ground.  The  noise  was  so 
great  that  one  had  to  shout  when  speaking.  It  was 
not  really  rain  that  fell,  it  was  water  in  great  sheets : 
one  felt  as  though  one  stood  in  the  perilous  passage 
behind  Niagara,  seeing  the  ceaseless  fall  swing  down 
before  one's  face.  Every  moment  one  felt  that  it 
was  pouring  so  hard  that  it  must  stop:  and  every 
minute  it  seemed  to  take  breath  and  pour  harder. 

It  got  on  Scott's  nerves — it,  the  relentless  rain  of 
Samarai,  gets  on  the  nerves  of  most  people.  Most 
of  the  day  he  tramped  ceaselessly,  feeling  the  veran- 
dah boards  sag  beneath  his  feet,  but  hearing  no  more 
noise  from  his  steps  than  if  he  had  been  deaf. 
Something  beat  in  his  brain  to-day,  as  yesterday,  but 
it  seemed  to  have  reference  to  nothing  in  particular. 
All  the  more  it  tormented  him,  and  would  not  leave 


GUINEA  GOLD  77 

him,  chanting  throughout  the  day  to  the  magnificent 
orchestra  of  the  rain  .  .  .  just  a  scrap  of  Shake- 
speare out  of  his  old  school  "  Reciter,"  marked  with 
the  mechanical  emphasis  of  the  book:  first  one  word 
in  prominence,  and  then  another — 

"But  Brutus  is  an  honourable  man  ,  .  ." 
"For  Brutus  is  an  honourable  man  .  .  ." 

Late  in  the  day,  when  the  dark  afternoon  was 
glooming  down  to  night,  a  call  of  "  Sail-0 !  "  sounded 
from  the  beach.  A  small  white  schooner,  driving 
dim  and  ghostlike  through  the  rain,  came  up  from 
China  Straits  and  fluttered  to  the  jetty. 

Rupert  Dence  came  out  of  his  room  and  looked 
from  under  the  pouring  eaves. 

"  That's  Blackwood's  schooner,"  he  said.  "  An- 
derson's back." 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  .  .  .  Easy?  I'm  glad  you  think  so:  just  you 
keep  on  thinkin'  that  way  as  long  as  you  can." 

Scott  was  beginning  to  understand  what  Dence  had 
meant  when  he  said  that.  They  were  well  started 
on  the  gold-hunt  now — Dence,  Anderson,  himself, 
and  four-and-thirty  native  carriers — and  the  way  of 
the  traveller  in  Papua  was  unfolding  itself. 

First,  there  had  been  a  trip  of  several  hundred 
miles  along  the  coast,  in  a  cranky  toy  steamer  meant 
to  carry  nine  passengers  in  her  cabins  and  twenty  or 
so  on  her  decks.  She  carried  nineteen  and  eighty- 
one.  The  nor'-west  season  was  setting  in,  and  the 
weather  was  uniformly  bad.  There  were  storms 
every  .day,  and  they  could  seldom  anchor  at 
night,  which  was  annoying,  because  much  of  the 
Papuan  coast  is  hardly  charted  at  all,  and  if  you  run 
in  the  dark  you  take  chances.  The  Cora  Lynn  took 
them,  also  much  of  the  Pacific  Ocean  in  sections. 
They  got  to  the  Kikiramu  in  time,  nevertheless :  and 
the  captain  said  he  had  really  thought  she  was  gone 
this  time;  another  trip  like  that  would  finish  her, 
because  there  wasn't  a  spot  in  her  plates  you  couldn't 
rip  up  with  a  tin-opener.  Nobody  minded  what  he 
said:  they  had  heard  it  all  before,  and  the  Cora 
Lynn  still  laboured  up  and  down  the  coasts. 

78 


GUINEA  GOLD  79 

Arrived  at  the  Kikiramu,  it  seemed  that  the 
launch  which  travelled  irregularly  up  and  down  the 
river  was  out  of  reach  at  the  upper  end,  and  not 
likely  to  appear  until  her  engineer  wanted  cocoa- 
nuts  or  fish.  Scott's  party,  and  the  various  other 
miners  going  up  to  the  Kikiramu  field  with  their 
boys,  were  dumped  out  on  a  black  sand  beach  in  the 
midst  of  the  mangrove  swamps  and  left  to  wait. 
They  waited  two  weeks,  living  in  tents,  using  up 
their  provisions,  and  swearing.  When  the  Dragon- 
Fly  launch  turned  up,  she  took  forty  or  fifty  carriers, 
and  ten  white  (she  was  built  to  carry  two  in  her 
cabin  and  eight  or  nine  on  deck) ,  while  the  remain- 
der waited  another  week.  It  rained  atrociously:  it 
was  as  hot  as  the  inside  of  a  Turkish  bath:  the 
sand-flies  bit,  and  mosquitoes  stung,  and  if  you  went 
along  the  beach  in  the  dusk,  to  get  cool,  you  ran 
the  risk  of  being  taken  by  an  alligator.  Scott  found 
this  out  the  first  night  that  he  tried  a  solitary  stroll : 
something  that  sounded  like  a  torpedo  leaving  its 
tube  charged  at  him  in  the  dark  out  of  the  water,  and 
if  he  had  not  spent  five  years  in  the  shipyards  of 
Belfast,  where  clumsiness  of  movement  means 
wounds  and  death,  there  would  have  been  a  full-fed 
crocodile  that  night  on  the  banks  of  the  Kikiramu, 
and  an  empty  tin  plate  at  the  miners'  supper.  But  he 
jumped  quick  enough — just — and  ran  as  he  never 
had  thought  he  could  run,  reaching  the  lighted  tents 
much  out  of  breath.  Nobody  thought  his  adventure 
remarkable,  though  some  laughed  at  it.     Nor  was 


80  GUINEA  GOLD 

anyone  excited  when  a  miner  came  in  exhibiting  an 
ugly  barbed  throwing-spear  which  he  had  found 
sticking  in  the  wall  of  his  tent  a  few  minutes  earlier. 
Anderson  said  they  were  cross-grained  little  beggars 
about  here,  and  related,  as  an  excellent  joke,  an 
adventure  he  had  met  with  on  Ferguson  Island,  while 
recruiting.  Taking  French  leave,  he  had  entered 
the  house  of  an  absent  trader,  and  while  enjoying  a 
capital  night's  rest  in  the  trader's  good  new  bed, 
fitted  with  a  real  chain  mattress,  he  was  awaked  by 
several  violent  blows  from  underneath,  followed  by 
enraged  and  embittered  howls.  He  snatched  a  lan- 
tern from  the  table  where  it  was  burning,  and  made 
a  dash  out  underneath  the  house.  There  he  found 
a  Ferguson  Islander  yelling  over  the  loss  of  his 
treasured  spear,  which  was  hopelessly  entangled,  ow- 
ing to  its  barbs,  in  the  meshes  of  the  chain  mattress. 
The  native  fled  at  his  approach,  crying  with  rage 
and  disappointment,  and  accusing  the  absent  trader 
of  witchcraft — also,  incidentally,  of  unsportsmanlike 
conduct,  and  not  playing  the  game. 

The  story  was  received  with  roars  of  laughter. 
Dence  remarked  that  some  of  the  D'Entrecasteaux 
traders  put  sheet  iron  on  the  wicker  floors  under 
their  beds,  and  further  observed  that  he  had  known 
a  whole  Papuan  family  (down  in  Mekeo,  where 
they  sleep  in  a  huge  native-cloth  bag,  to  keep  off  the 
mosquitoes)  speared  like  snakes  in  a  sack  by  a  war- 
party,  who  never  so  much  as  entered  the  house. 
More  laughter  greeted  this  tale.     Scott  turned  into 


GUINEA  GOLD  81 

his  bed — a  sack  stretched  over  a  frame  of  poles — 
wondering  at  the  local  taste  in  jokes,  and  feeling 
thankful  that  the  solid  sand  of  the  beach  was  his  own 
flooring  that  night. 

Then  for  four  days  they  chunked  and  rattled  up 
the  river,  a  great  cocoa-coloured  flood  full  of  snags 
and  reefs,  in  the  tired  little  launch.  All  day  they 
lay  under  the  awning  of  the  engine-room  roof,  where 
they  could  just  find  space  to  crawl  about:  enduring 
as  best  they  could  the  three-times-heated  furnace  of 
the  sun,  the  engine,  and  the  stove,  where  meals  were 
cooked.  Food  was  served  among  the  sprawling 
boots  of  the  company,  and  eaten  from  their  knees. 
At  night  they  landed,  holding  on  by  teeth  and  eye- 
lids, on  a  perpendicular  bank  topped  by  trees  set  as 
close  as  hairs  in  a  brush.  The  boys  started  clearing 
immediately,  and  swung  their  axes  to  fine  effect:  in 
half  an  hour  the  dense  undergrowth  was  gone,  and 
space  left  among  the  great  trees  for  tents  and  fires. 
They  had  supper  in  the  ©pen,  where  they  could 
stretch  their  cramped  limbs,  and  they  slept  under  the 
hastily  slung  flies  of  their  tents,  the  fresh-smelling 
earth  of  the  forest  floor  beneath  them,  and  the  un- 
trodden, unknown  vistas  of  the  primeval  wilderness 
looking  at  them  through  the  open  flaps  of  the  canvas. 
It  was  always  possible  that  the  Karivas,  a  ghostly 
night-wandering  tribe,  never  yet  seen  by  the  white 
men  of  Papua,  might  attack  the  camp  in  their  silent 
way  and  carry  off  a  dead  body  or  two  out  of  the 
tents  without  the  others  being  a  whit  the  wiser.     It 


82  GUINEA  GOLD 

was  not  impossible  that  a  hungry  alligator  might 
creep  up  out  of  the  river  and  take  his  luck  where 
he  found  it.  And  it  was  clear — judging  by  the  death- 
adder  that  dropped  from  the  fly  of  the  tent  right 
into  Anderson's  supper-plate  one  night,  and  the 
lively  tiger-snake  captured  under  Scott's  mosquito 
net — that  other  drawbacks  to  the  simple  life  might 
be  discovered  along  the  Kikiramu  River.  But  the 
miners  "  took  the  chances."  .  .  .  Scott  began  to 
know  the  phrase. 

During  the  journey  he  thought  it  well  to  learn  as 
much,  and  say  as  little,  as  he  could.  The  miners 
seemed  to  like  him,  though  they  called  him  a  "  new 
chum  "  and  a  "  kid  " — they  were  all  much  older  than 
himself,  some  of  them  beginning  to  display  grey 
beards  on  their  unshaven  chins  as  the  days  went  on. 
They  talked  a  good  deal  of  the  field,  and  the  best 
ways  of  prospecting,  and  the  possibility  of  the  reef 
being  found  some  day — up  on  the  spurs  of  Albert 
Edward  or  Victoria,  perhaps,  or  it  might  be  some- 
where on  Scratchley.  Scott  learned  that  "  alluvial  " 
mining  is  mere  scraping  and  washing  out  of  gold 
that  has  escaped  from  the  mother-source:  he  heard 
that  all  the  gold  found  on  the  mainland  of  Papua  had 
been  of  this  kind,  and  that  none  of  it  began  to  com- 
pare with  the  richness  of  some  of  the  Australian 
fields  in  the  early  days.  You  didn't  get  nuggets  in 
Papua,  he  heard :  you  might,  if  you  were  very  lucky 
indeed,  and  if  you  were  not  a  new  chum,  find  a  patch 


GUINEA  GOLD  83 

where  there  was  as  much  as  eight  or  ten  ounces  a  day 
to  be  got  for  a  little  while  (What  was  an  ounce 
worth?  Three  pounds,  fifteen  shillings),  and,  say, 
two  or  three  ounces  for  some  months.  But  in  gen- 
eral, if  you  got  a  couple  of  ounces  a  day,  you  did 
very  well.  And  you  had  to  work  for  that,  and  you 
had  to  feed  and  pay  your  boys  out  of  it.  What  did 
you  want  boys  for?  Well,  you  were  to  wait  till  you 
got  to  the  field  and  you'd  see. 

None  of  the  other  miners  knew  the  real  object  of 
Scott's  party:  it  was  supposed  that  they  were  merely 
out  on  an  ordinary  prospecting  trip.  They  had  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  two  of  the  late  Mr.  Cripps'  boys, 
by  the  simple  process  of  going  down  to  the  village 
where  he  had  recruited  his  carriers  and  asking  where 
each  available  recruit  had  last  been  working.  But 
they  had  asked  no  questions  so  far. 

"What  a  native  don't  know,  he  can't  tell:  we 
don't  want  to  get  them  talking  when  we're  passing 
through  the  field,"  said  Anderson. 

They  had  gone  over  the  paper  again  at  Samarai, 
and  Anderson  had  given  it  as  his  opinion  that  Cripps' 
reef  might  be  found,  though  it  would  take  a  good 
deal  of  finding.  The  dead  man  and  his  mate  had 
started  from  the  Kikiramu  field  into  the  unknown, 
on  their  last  journey,  accompanied  only  by  their 
boys.  None  of  the  miners  knew  exactly  where 
Cripps  had  gone,  or  what  he  had  been  doing  when 
he  met  with  his  end.  They  only  knew  that  his 
mate  had  come  back  to  Samarai  alone,  abandoning 


84  GUINEA  GOLD 

the  trip  because  it  was  unsuccessful,  and  that,  later 
on,  the  natives  had  brought  down  news  of  Cripps' 
death.     That  was  all. 

Anderson  had  taken  command  of  the  little  party 
from  the  first,  and  Scott,  not  without  a  grimace  or 
two,  had  let  him  do  it.  He  was  not  fond  of  being 
"  bossed  ";  but  the  tall,  tough,  quiet  miner  had  the 
knack  of  inspiring  confidence,  even  in  those  who  did 
not  like  him.  Lying  on  the  hot  roof  of  the  engine- 
room,  and  watching  the  mysterious  black  walls  of 
the  forest  slide  endlessly  by,  Scott  thought  once  more 
of  his  favourite  poet,  and  decided  that  certain  lines 
of  Gordon's — describing  a  horse,  it  was  true — fitted 
Anderson  to  a  hair. 

"The  lean  brown  head  of  the  Blacklock  breed 
And  the  resolute  eye  that  loves  the  lead." 

Dence  was  a  much  more  likable  character,  even  al- 
lowing for  his  destroying  weakness — but  Anderson 
was  the  man  to  take  them  through  what  they  were 
going  to  face,  or  die  in  the  attempt.  And  here,  on 
the  Kikiramu  River,  the  second  clause  seemed  to 
carry  a  meaning  more  than  merely  rhetorical. 

He  also  thought,  much  and  long,  of  Charmian 
Ducane.  Not  for  a  moment  did  he  attempt  to  dis- 
guise from  himself  the  thing  that  had  happened  to 
him.  It  was  just  what  had  happened  to  millions  of 
other  men,  in  fiction  and  in  real  life.  He  had  found 
out,  after  binding  himself  to  a  woman,  that  she  was 
not  the  one  woman,   and  that  someone   else  was. 


GUINEA  GOLD  85 

That  other  had  been  shapen  and  made  for  him  from 
the  earliest  dawn  of  life  and  time,  and  he  loved  her 
to  the  remotest  corner  of  his  soul.  But  he  was  not 
to  have  her. 

Yes,  it  had  certainly  happened  to  millions:  he 
could  believe  that.  What  he  could  not  believe 
was  that  it  had  hurt  any  of  the  millions  as  it  hurt 
him. 

Well,  pain  could  be  borne.  But  there  was  some- 
thing worse.  Truth  and  untruth,  honour  and  dis- 
honour, seemed  to  have  changed  places.  Was  it 
not  wrong,  even  wicked,  that  he  should  leave  his 
own  woman,  Charmian,  and  marry  the  other,  the 
good,  noble,  loving  girl  who  yet  was  not  created  and 
marked  out  for  him  from  the  world's  beginning? 
Almost  adulterous  that  union  looked  to  him — now. 
.  .  .  Had  not  he  and  Charmian  lived  before,  been 
married  in  some  former  existence?  He  had  always 
laughed  at  crystal-gazers  and  their  kin,  but  if  one 
of  them  were  to  come  to  him  now,  and  show  him  in 
the  depths  of  the  magic  ball  strange  pictures  of  a 
life  of  long  ago,  when  he  and  Charmian  had  been 
bridegroom  and  bride,  had  travelled  together,  lived 
in  the  same  house  for  years  and  years,  brought 
up  and  married  their  children,  grown  old  and  died 
together — why,  he  would  have  believed  every  bit  of 
it.  He  almost  believed  it  now.  Could  a  man  have 
such  a  sense  of  passionate  right  to  a  woman  without 
foundation  for  that  right  existing — somewhere, 
somewhen?     He  found  himself  thinking  of  Char- 


86  GUINEA  GOLD 

mian's  divorced  husband  as  a  man  of  the  Middle 
Ages  might  have  thought  of  a  robber-knight  who 
had  carried  away  and  imprisoned  his  lady.  The 
lady  was  freed:  the  robber  had  never  had  any  right 
to  her:  she  had  hated  him,  and  gone  with  him  all 
unwillingly — in  God's  name,  then,  forget,  and  let 
her  come  back  to  her  home ! 

But  the  gate  of  home  was  barred — something  in 
time  and  space  had  gone  wrong,  and  she  might  not 
enter  any  more.  So  she  was  out  there  all  alone  on 
the  open  road,  where  cruel  storms  might  break  on 
her  unprotected  head,  and  other  robber-knights 
might  come  riding  by  and  carry  her  off  again.  And 
he  to  whom  she  belonged  of  right  could  only  look  at 
her  across  the  bars- and  turn  away.  She  had  called 
to  him  (he  knew  well  that  Charmian  loved  him), 
but  he  could  not  answer. 

.  .  .  Could  he  not?  Was  it  really  right  to 
spoil  three  lives  instead  of  one?  Down  went  the 
balance  with  a  clang  on  the  side  of  expediency. 
.  .  .  Was  there  such  a  thing  in  the  world  as 
honour?  Up  flew  the  scale  and  down  on  the  other 
side.  What  would  any  decent  man  say,  if  one  asked 
him?  Why,  of  course  he  would  say  .  .  .  but  then, 
the  decent  man  would  not  know  the  circumstances: 
he  would  think  that  this  was  an  ordinary  love- 
affair,  whereas   .    .    . 

Scott  almost  burst  out  laughing.  Was  not  every- 
body's especial  love-affair  unique?  And  had  he  not 
supposed  himself,  a  year  ago,  that  the  feeling  he 


GUINEA  GOLD  87 

had  for  Janie  was  without  parallel  in  the  history  of 
humanity? 

Then — this  new  love  of  his — was  it  something 
that  he  would  forget  and  make  little  of,  some  day? 

No,  by  God,  it  was  not.  He  had  no  reasons:  he 
could  not  have  made  a  statement  of  his  case,  in 
speech  or  in  writing,  worth  twopence.  He  could  not 
find  words  to  express  or  prove  anything  at  all  in 
connection  with  the  whole  affair:  it  seemed  to  have 
no  more  to  do  with  words  than  music  had  to  do  with 
the  symbols  of  algebra — but  this  was — IT.  This 
made  him  understand  what  Antony  felt  for  Cleo- 
patra. This  told  him  why  Parnell  had  sold  Ireland. 
This  made  plain  to  him  the  excuses  claimed  by 
seeming-virtuous  wives  and  husbands  when  they 
broke  through  the  fences  separating  the  Good  from 
the  Bad,  and  fled  hand  in  hand  with  their  disgrace- 
ful loves  to  obscurity.  Why,  if  he,  George  Scott, 
had  met  Charmian  before  her  divorce,  he  could 
have  imagined  himself  smashing  through  that  very 
fence  with  small  remorse, — if  he  had  been  free. 
But  now  .    .    . 

It  seemed  a  much  worse  thing  to  desert  Janie.  It 
seemed  so  bad,  indeed,  that  he  could  not  do  it. 

"  And  I  would  like  to  know,"  groaned  Scott, 
"where  my  ideas  of  decency  have  got  to  if  I  can 
look  at  things  in  such  a  crooked  way?  " 

"  All  the  same,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  crooked  or 
straight,  it  comes  to  the  one  thing — I  can't  be  a 
beast  to  Janie." 


CHAPTER  VII 

He  had  something  else  to  think  of  before  long. 
The  lazy  days  were  ended  at  last — the  long,  slow 
crawl  up  the  coast,  the  wait  at  the  river-mouth,  the 
leisurely  chunking  up  the  river,  the  mornings  and 
afternoons  when  one  lay  on  the  deck  of  the  Dragon- 
Fly  smoking  and  dreaming  and  watching  the  flights 
of  gargoyle-headed  hornbills  rise  screaming  out  of 
the  reeds,  or  the  rare  red  birds  of  paradise  rocket 
from  tree  to  tree.  Already  the  world  of  trains  and 
cities  seemed  almost  incredibly  remote,  the  very 
ports  of  Papua  itself  dim,  unsubstantial  as  mirages 
seen  and  forgotten  on  a  long  desert  journey.  And 
yet  the  real  work  lay  all  before  them. 

One  morning,  about  eleven  o'clock,  the  miners 
began  to  get  astir,  packing  their  canvas  "  swags  " 
and  shouting  directions,  in  pidgin-English  and  in 
scraps  of  many  dialects,  to  their  boys.  The  car- 
riers themselves,  who  had  spent  the  days  of  travel  in 
one  long  orgy  of  betel-chewing  and  Jew's-harp  and 
tin-whistle  playing,  began  to  collect  their  own  ef- 
fects, their  beads  and  bits  of  dried  fish  and  sticks  of 
sago,  their  shell  armlets  and .  dog-tooth  necklaces, 
and  Manchester  cotton  singlets.  It  was  plain  that 
the  landing-place  was  near. 

&3 


GUINEA  GOLD  89 

In  another  half-hour  the  Dragon-Fly  had  stopped, 
and  a  stream  of  excited  Papuans  was  spilling  over 
her  bulwarks  on  to  the  muddy  river-bank,  like  ants 
running  on  to  a  plate.  Sacks,  bags,  and  cases  were 
chucked  ashore;  owners  jumped  after  them.  The 
launch  began  vomiting  cargo  to  an  incredible  extent, 
and  the  crowd  of  fresh  carriers  who  had  been  wait- 
ing for  her  arrival,  encamped  in  a  small  clearing, 
came  forward  with  their  sacks  and  poles  to  carry 
the  goods  to  the  little  split-log  store  just  visible  some 
distance  off.  There  was  a  dwelling-house  beside  the 
store, — a  mere  hut  piled  together  of  miscellaneous 
bush  material, — and  here,  in  company  with  the  one 
lonely  white  in  charge  of  the  store,  the  miners  spent 
the  night,  camping  in  their  tents  as  before,  and  busy- 
ing themselves  all  evening  over  the  packing  of  their 
goods  in  carrying-swags  for  the  journey  to  the  gold- 
field,  two  days'  march  away. 

By  seven  o'clock  next  morning  the  storekeeper 
had  his  own  boys — a  crowd  of  thirty-nine  naked 
savages,  marshalled  by  a  wild-looking  Kiwai  in  a 
crownless  hat  and  half  a  pair  of  trousers — away  on 
their  march  to  the  field.  The  miners  spent  the  day 
breaking  open  countless  cases  of  their  own,  cov- 
ering the  muddy  ground  with  small  mountains  of 
tinned  goods, — meat,  fish,  vegetables,  fruit — with 
mats  of  rice  and  sacks  of  flour,  with  oblong  tins 
of  kerosene,  sides  of  bacon  in  canvas,  canisters  of 
tea,  bottles  of  sauce  wrapped  in  straw,  matches, 
tobacco,  blankets,  billy-cans.     Scott  took  a  hand  in 


90  GUINEA  GOLD 

the  work  and  in  the  subsequent  stowing  away  of 
everything  into  small  swags  for  the  backs  of  the 
carriers.  Loads  were  light,  no  more  than  fifty 
pounds  was  given  to  any  man,  and  some  had  less. 
It  looked  as  though  there  were  work  ahead.  Scott 
was  not  sorry:  he  rather  fancied  his  walking,  and, 
as  the  youngest  man  in  the  company,  thought  he 
might  be  able  to  show  them  a  thing  or  two. 

But  next  morning,  when  they  started,  it  took  ex- 
actly half  a  mile  to  dispose  of  that  illusion — half 
a  mile  of  the  Kikiramu  track,  which  was  not,  as 
some  of  the  men  assured  him,  by  any  means  the 
,orst  in  the  country.  Scott  would  not  have  known  it 
was  a  track  at  all  if  he  had  not  been  told.  When 
you  could  see  it,  it  was  mostly  a  river-bed,  with 
the  river  in  full  possession,  or  else  a  ninety-foot 
log,  worn  and  slippery  with  rain,  slung  across  some 
precipitous  gully  at  an  alarming  slope,  and  guiltless 
of  handrail.  Sometimes  it  was  a  swamp  of  scarlet 
clay,  glutinous,  holding,  and  half-knee  high.  Oc- 
casionally it  was  a  bit  of  "  corduroy  "  logging,  laid 
in  black  slime  and  more  than  half-buried  in  it:  as 
soon  as  you  got  over  this,  you  stopped  to  pick  the 
leeches  out  of  your  socks,  and  you  did  not  bother  to 
wipe  the  trickles  of  blood  off  your  boots,  as  you 
knew  there  would  be  plenty  more  by  and  by. 
When  you  were  not  staggering  over  the  corduroy  or 
balancing  with  set  teeth  and  throbbing  heart  across 
one  of  those  atrocious  log  bridges,  or  jumping  from 
rock  to  rock  in  the  midst  of  a  foaming  rapid,  you 


GUINEA  GOLD  91 

were  climbing  endlessly  up  a  sort  of  purgatorial 
staircase  composed  of  roots  and  slippery  clay,  help- 
ing yourself  with  your  hands,  lifting  your  feet  to 
the  level  of  your  waist  at  every  step,  and  feeling,  as 
the  relentless  tramp  went  on  and  on,  that  you  would 
certainly  die  before  the  end  of  it,  but  that  you  would 
rather  die — much  rather — than  give  in. 

"  Good  God,  what  are  they  made  of?  "  groaned 
the  u  new  chum  "  to  himself.  "  This  would  be  a 
fair-to-middling  pace  on  an  ordinary  road,  in  a 
cool  climate — whereas  here  ..." 

It  did  not  look  as  if  they  were  going  fast — they 
seemed  to  be  strolling — strolling  up  precipices,  over 
bridges  made  of  half  a  dozen  plaited  creepers, 
strolling  from  tip  to  tip  of  rocks  buried  in  roaring 
foam,  strolling  from  bristling  log  to  log,  in  a  chaos 
of  felled  trees — always  in  a  temperature  that  set 
every  pore  gaping  wide,  and  kept  it  streaming — 
just  strolling.  It  was  not  the  pace,  but  the  unvary- 
ing rate,  that  was  killing.  Scott  got  left  a  dozen 
times,  struggled  up  as  often,  got  left  again,  and 
kept  the  party  waiting,  but  shut  his  teeth  and  stuck 
to  it.  They  did  nine  miles  of  this  fearful  country 
between  two  o'clock  and  six,  with  the  help  of  one 
long  downhill  that  came  as  near  diving  on  land  as 
anything  Scott  had  ever  seen,  and  stopped  at  last  in 
what  was  evidently  a  favourite  camping-place — a 
brown  clearing  in  the  forest,  walled  in  by  cliffs  of 
vegetation  so  knitted  together  with  orchids,  creep- 
ers, and  the  long  Jacob's  ladders  of  the  lianas,  that 


92  GUINEA  GOLD 

it  seemed  as  if  not  even  a  snake  could  have  wound 
its  way  through. 

The  miners'  small  army  of  carriers  were  almost 
all  up  as  soon  as  the  masters:  some  of  them  had 
beaten  the  unloaded  whites  by  half  an  hour.  Tents 
were  got  up  and  fires  lighted  with  as  much  speed  as 
possible,  for  the  afternoon  rains,  which  had  held 
off  amazingly  so  far,  seemed  now  about  to  burst. 
They  did  burst  before  supper  was  fairly  over,  and 
the  men  finished  their  meal  sitting  almost  in  one 
another's  laps,  inside  the  narrow  shelter  of  the 
canvas  flies.  All  night  the  thunderous  torrent 
roared  down,  drowning  every  other  sound;  the 
swollen  Kikiramu  seemed  to  run  silently  over  its 
rocky  bed  below;  the  carriers  laughed  and  chattered 
round  their  sheltered  fire  apparently  in  dumbshow. 
When  the  camp  had  gone  to  rest,  Scott  slept  but  ill 
on  his  sack-and-sapling  couch.  Something  was  op- 
pressing him,  he  could  scarce  tell  what  .  .  .  not  the 
thought  of  Charmian — that  was  just  a  dull  pain  that 
he  had  learned  to  bear — it  was  something  new.  So 
new  in  his  experience  that  it  seemed  nameless. 

He  fell  asleep  at  last  with  the  weight  still  on  his 
mind;  woke  in  the  dead  hour  of  the  night,  with  the 
last  sparks  of  the  camp-fires  out,  and  the  rain  thun- 
dering ceaselessly,  and  knew  what  it  was.  It  was 
the  terror  of  the  wilderness ! 

"What  a  country!  what  a  country!  "  he  said  to 
himself,  over  and  over,  feeling  all  the  time  that  it 
was  not  the  country,  but  something  behind   it:  a 


GUINEA  GOLD  93 

giant,  sinister,  unfriendly  power — a  thing  that  the 
little  handful  of  whites  in  the  country  fought  against, 
as  cavemen  might  have  fought  against  "  dragons  of 
the  prime  "  with  their  little  useless  sticks  and  slings. 
.  .  .  Those  awful  ridges  buried  in  knitted  forest, 
over  which  they  had  been  creeping — the  plunging 
scarps  and  precipices — the  torrential  rivers,  the 
blue,  far,  unscalable  mountain  horns  that  looked  at 
him  mockingly  through  rents  in  the  choking  forest 
wall — what  were  they,  ant-like  little  human  crea- 
tures, that  they  should  dare  to  challenge  such 
powers?  Here,  in  the  interior  of  the  last  uncon- 
quered  territory  of  the  world,  life  floated  as  pre- 
cariously on  the  tossing  surface  of  a  thousand  war- 
ring forces  as  a  shipwrecked  swimmer  floats  on  a 
furious  sea.  Men  were  nothing,  Nature — not 
Mother  Nature  any  longer,  as  in  the  lands  of  golden 
fields  and  smiling  hills,  but  "  Nature  red  in  tooth 
and  claw,"  was  everything.  .  .  .  And  it  was  out  of 
this  appalling  welter  of  unbroken  primeval  world 
that  he,  and  Dence,  and  Anderson,  meant  to  rip  the 
secret  of  Cripps'  gold — they  three  against  the  uni- 
verse. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  I  must  go  to  sleep!  "  groaned  Scott, 
worrying  his  head  down  into  the  bundle  of  clothes 
that  served  him  for  pillow^  "  I'll  never  keep  up 
to-morrow."  / 

The  rain  thundered;  the  forest  smelt  fresh  and 
wet,  through  the  opening  of  the  fly.  There  was  an 
odour  of  something  tropical  and  scented;  there  was 


94  GUINEA  GOLD 

an  oozy  whiff  from  the  river,  there  was  the  acrid 
breath  of  dying  fires,  and  rising  through  all  there 
was  the  smell  of  the  night  itself  that  wanderers  and 
campers  know.  Scott,  the  man  house-reared  and 
city-bred,  lying  there  beneath  the  little  shelter  of 
the  fly,  with  the  men  of  the  wilderness  sleeping  by 
his  side,  began  to  feel  that  this  day  and  this  night, 
and  the  days  and  the  nights  that  had  gone  by  be- 
fore, had  been  an  initiation.  Something  in  him  had 
changed  since  the  Cora  Lynn  lurched  out  of  Sama- 
rai.  Something  that  had  been  lost  .  .  .  how  long 
ago?  Gods  of  the  doors  that  close  behind  our  birth, 
how  long?  .    .    .  was  found. 

The  task  ahead  looked  no  less  gigantic;  but  the 
miners'  phrase  gathered  meaning  in  the  face  of  it. 

"  Yes — ■  one  takes  the  chances/  "  thought  Scott. 

And  now  the  camp  was  all  asleep. 

The  next  day  was  a  little  better  than  the  first. 
Scott  found  himself  keeping  back  the  party  not  so 
much,  and  suffering  somewhat  less  than  the  utmost 
extremity  of  physical  agony  himself.  This  was  an 
improvement;  but  the  log  bridges  almost  annihilated 
it,  for  they  were  much  worse  on  this  section,  and  the 
newcomer  found  himself  obliged  to  get  down  and 
cross  them  at  an  ignominious  crawl,  shutting  his 
eyes  to  the  rocks  and  rapids  far  below — while  the 
miners  went  before  and  after  him  as  lightly  as  tight- 
rope dancers,  smoking  and  talking  as  they  crossed. 

It  dawned  upon  him  to-day,  in  the  midst  of  the 


GUINEA  GOLD  95 

eternal  scrambling  and  sliding,  wading  and  climbing, 
that  they  were,  and  had  been,  passing  through  mag- 
nificent scenery.  The  mad  monsters  at  play,  who 
had  apparently  seized  all  those  mountain  ranges  and 
precipices  and  rivers,  and  beaten  them  up  together 
like  smashed  eggs  in  a  bowl,  had  effected  some  com- 
binations very  wonderful  and  beautiful  to  see  in  the 
process.  There  were  bird-songs  to  be  noted,  too, 
when  labouring  lungs  and  straining  muscles  allowed 
one  to  pay  attention.  The  loveliest  birds,  such  as 
the  fiery  Raggiana,  the  snow-white,  golden-crested 
cockatoos,  the  rare  black  velvet  rifle-bird,  only 
squawked  and  scolded;  but  there  were  little  tinkling 
notes  of  infinite  sweetness  from  unseen  recesses  of 
the  bush,  and  cheery  fluting  of  the  impudent  pied 
butcher-bird,  and,  best  of  all,  the  deep,  bell-like  toll 
of  the  giant  Gaura  pigeon,  Clara  Butt  among  birds, 
calling  with  a  velvet  voice  from  somewhere  dim 
and  shadowy  and  far  away.   .    .    . 

.  .  .  But,  after  all,  one  had  to  keep  up — and  if 
one  listened  or  looked  too  much,  one  fell  behind, 
which  was  unbearable.  Scott  was  well  aware  by  this 
time  that  these  toughened  pioneers  could  give  him  a 
mile  in  every  three,  and  more,  that  they  were  kindly 
men  who  would  grant  him  just  as  much  law  as  he 
asked  for — when  he  asked  it.  Just  for  that  reason 
he  asked  none.  He  could  not  swallow  a  bit  of 
tinned  meat  or  a  fragment  of  biscuit  at  the  midday 
halt  for  lunch;  he  burned  with  thirst,  but  kept  his 
pannikin  slung  to  his  belt,  scarce  wet  all  day,  know- 


96  GUINEA  GOLD 

ing  that  too  much  water  is  the  end  of  all  things  on 
a  heavy  march.     And  he  kept  up. 

Near  sundown  someone  said  they  were  close  upon 
the  field,  and  Scott  said  the  heartiest  prayer  of 
thanksgiving  that  had  left  his  lips  for  many  a  day. 
Just  as  he  was  calculating  that  they  must  be  within 
half  an  hour's  walk,  came  the  last  insult  of  Nature 
and  New  Guinea — a  ridge  like  a  wall,  four  hundred 
feet  high,  with  a  rough  log  and  liana  ladder  set  upon 
its  face  among  the  tangled  trees  that  hung  down  and 
out  over  the  empty  air.  The  heart  of  the  "  new 
chum  "  died  within  him,  but  he  set  his  face  to  the 
wall  and  climbed  himself  blind.  He  could  scarcely 
see  where  he  was,  or  stand  upon  his  feet  when  he 
reached  the  top.  Dence  had  gone  on;  the  rest  were 
invisible,  far  ahead.  Only  Anderson  stood  at  the 
top  of  the  ridge,  with  one  foot  on  the  upward  and 
one  on  the  downward  slope — for  it  was  no  wider 
than  the  roof  of  a  house — holding  a  whiskey-bottle, 
cork  out. 

"  Take  two  or  three  swallows;  it'll  get  you  down 
to  the  camp,"  he  said.  His  manner  was  cold,  but 
there  was  approval  in  the  hard  green  eyes;  and 
Scott,  his  ragged-out  nervous  system  responding  in- 
stantly to  the  fiery  drink,  felt  warmed  in  body  and 
mind.  Absurdly  glad,  too,  that  he  had  pleased 
Anderson. 

They  waited  for  a  moment  on  the  narrow  spine  of 
the  ridge,  Anderson  standing  as  still  as  a  tree-trunk 
and  looking  at  something  a  long  way  off.     The 


GUINEA  GOLD  97 

miners  always  seemed  to  be  looking  at  something  a 
long  way  off.  Scott,  while  he  got  back  his  strength, 
and  let  the  whiskey  do  its  work,  sat  on  a  fallen  log, 
staring  up  and  down,  and  wondering  where  the  field 
was;  for  he  had  heard  you  could  see  it  from  the  top 
of  the  ridge,  and  he  was  eager  for  the  sight  of  that 
wonderful  and  fateful  thing,  a  goldfield. 

Under  the  toes  of  his  boots  there  were  treetops 
garlanded  in  wreathing  cloud:  below,  more  and 
more  treetops,  veiling  a  tremendous  gorge  deep- 
furred  with  forest  that  had  shot  up  close  and  spindly 
to  reach  the  far-off  light.  At  the  bottom  one  could 
hear  an  invisible  river  wrangling  over  rocks  and 
falls.  Opposite,  the  wave  of  forest  that  swept 
down  to  the  river  from  the  crest  of  the  ridge  gath- 
ered itself  again  for  a  splendid  rush  up  again  into 
the  zenith  of  the  sky.  Beyond  were  green  and 
blue  fragments  of  the  crests  of  other  incredible  earth 
waves — one  could  almost  feel  the  colossal  down- 
ward rush  and  upward  sweep  of  every  billow.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  ridge  on  which  one  stood  must 
by  and  by  swing  loose  and  hurl  its  tossing  forest 
crest  at  the  very  sun  in  heaven. 

An  appalling  landscape,  if  a  lovely  one.  But.  .  . 
where  was  the  field? 

Scott  began  to  .understand.  A  few  thin  streams 
of  smoke  rose  up  through  the  trees,  here  and  there, 
indicating  camps  and  fires.  In  one  spot  there  was 
just  so  much  bush  cleared  away  as  would  allow  one 
to  build  two  or  three  little  brown  huts;  and  there 


98  GUINEA  GOLD 

was  a  thin  scratch  of  track  leading  down  to  the 
clearing.  This,  no  doubt,  was  the  store  and  the 
warden's  office.  For  the  miners  it  was  clear  that 
they  lived,  like  fish,  groping  about  at  the  bottom  of 
the  deep  green  sea  of  forest,  a  hundred  feet  re- 
moved from  the  light  of  day. 

"  What  a  country!  "  he  thought. 

"  Ready?  "  asked  Anderson,  turning  his  iron-bark 
face  and  shaggy  beard  towards  Scott. 

Scott  was  not  ready,  for  his  limbs  felt  like  lead, 
and  his  internal  organs  were  fighting  each  other  for 
place  and  space  that  seemed  to  have  suddenly  failed. 
But  he  was  up  at  once,  and  footing  it  down  the 
gorge,  as  gaily  as  he  might.  There  was  a  sort  of 
staircase  of  rough  logs  here,  and  a  handrail  to  hold 
by — it  was  possible  for  a  very,  very  tired  man  to 
walk  as  if  he  were  not  tired  at  all.  And  here  was 
the  store,  after  only  a  few  minutes — a  long,  low 
hut  built  of  split  slabs  from  the  bush,  with  a  wide 
verandah  and  a  rough  bench  set  on  the  ground  be- 
neath, and  a  score  or  more  of  miners,  raising  a 
shout  as  Anderson  came  down  the  log  ladder.  He 
was  a  favourite,  it  seemed. 

Some  of  them  greeted  Scott  too,  and  Dence,  who 
was  already  rather  above  himself  (having  clearly 
been  sampling  the  goods  of  the  store),  called  out 
patronisingly,  "  Not  too  bad  for  a  new  chum." 

That  night  the  men  slept  in  mosquito-netted  rows 
under  the  verandah  roof,  while  the  inevitable  rain 
poured  down,  and  somebody's  gramophone  snarled 


GUINEA  GOLD  99 

tiny  songs  from  a  neighbouring  hut.  Scott  felt  at 
peace.  They  were  well  on  the  way  to  fortune  now — 
to  fortune  and  .    .    . 

Janie? 

Why,  of  course.  What  other  possibility  was 
open — to  Brutus,  who  was  an  honourable  man? 

"  And  so  that's  how  you  get  gold?  " 

Anderson,  standing  in  the  bed  of  a  river,  shook 
the  last  of  the  wet  stones  and  gravel  out  of  the 
shallow  tin  basin  he  was  holding.  In  the  midst  of 
the  round  of  white  metal  were  one  or  two  pinhead 
specks  of  dull  yellow. 

"  That's  how  you  get  it,"  he  said. 

Scott  looked  on,  fascinated.  Gold!  The  thing 
you  had  to  wring  from  other  men,  all  the  world 
over — the  thing  you  sold  your  liberty  for,  lied  and 
cheated  for,  maybe;  worked  for,  six  days  through, 
so  that  on  the  eve  of  the  seventh  day  another  man 
might,  grudgingly,  hand  you  out  two  or  three  little 
pieces  of  it — gold,  here,  before  his  eyes,  dipped  out 
of  the  Kikiramu  River — free! 
,  You  hired  your  team  of  boys,  you  took  up  your 
claim  and  worked  it,  you  lifted  tin  dishes  full  of 
gravel  and  clay  out  of  the  water  and  shook  them. 
And  in  your  hand  was  gold. 

Here,  in  the  heart  of  New  Guinea,  the  im- 
memorial bargain  of  the  world — so  much  liberty, 
so  much  of  the  free  winds  and  the  stars  and  the  seas, 
so  much  of  your  own  soul  and  your  own  hopes  and 


ioo  GUINEA  GOLD 

dreams  against  so  much  hard  yellow  metal,  held  no 
longer.  You  paid  with  your  body  for  what  you  got, 
not  with  your  soul.  You  were  hard-worked  and  hun- 
gry and  thirsty,  you  held  your  life  in  your  hand,  you 
faced  dangers,  and  abandoned  luxuries — but  it  was 
at  your  own  command.  And  the  gold  you  won  was 
clean.  There  was  none  in  the  world  so  clean  as 
this.  Other  gold  came  soiled  by  a  million  hands, 
bloodstained,  tarnished  with  sweat  and  tears.  This 
at  least  was  pure:  no  one  had  ever  cheated,  slaved, 
or  oppressed  to  get  it.  You  had  never  seen 
or  thought  of  the  dirt  on  all  the  other  gold, 
but  you  saw  it  now,  because  of  the  cleanness  of 
this. 

Something  of  the  kind  passed  through  the  new 
chum's  mind  as  he  stood  beside  Anderson  in  the 
welter  of  mud  and  water  where  the  jolly  Papuan 
boys  were  working  hard  with  pick  and  shovel.  That 
the  gold  had  not  been  got  without  labour  was  clear 
enough.  This  claim  was  Anderson's,  lying  vacant 
under  the  nominal  care  of  the  warden  for  the  last 
few  weeks,  while  the  owner  went  to  recruit  boys. 
What  he  had  done  here  in  the  course  of  a  few 
months,  with  his  own  head  and  hands  and  some 
dozen  untrained  Papuans,  was  almost  incredible  to 
Scott.  The  claim  looked  like  a  railway  in  process 
of  making.  The  dense  forest  trees  had  been  re- 
moved, the  ground,  cut  down  into  a  fifty-foot  hol- 
low for  near  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  so  that  a  wooded 
flat  was  transformed  into  a  raw  red  cliff;  hundreds 


GUINEA  GOLD  ioi 

of  tons  of  loose  rock  had  been  cleared  away,  and 
strata  of  earth  peeled  off  like  the  skins  of  an  onion. 
A  fair-sized  river  had  been  coaxed  down  from  its 
course  two  miles  away,  by  means  of  a  long  race  and 
several  "  flumes "  or  aqueducts,  built  bridge-wise 
over  intervening  gullies.  This  river  had  been  let 
loose  over  the  new  cliff  and  the  new  valley,  and  now 
ran  down  Anderson's  claim,  clearing  away  the  over- 
burden of  earth  that  lay  on  the  stratum  of  gold- 
bearing  "  wash,"  and  driving  the  gold,  day  by  day, 
into  the  "  box  " — a  hollowed  log  lined  with  stones, 
which  was  cleared  out  every  week  or  so.  You  might 
at  any  time  wash  a  dish  for  yourself,  and  see  how 
much  was  probably  draining  into  the  box.  This 
was  what  Anderson  had  been  doing. 

They  were  to  start  in  a  day  or  two  on  their 
prospecting  trip;  in  the  meantime,  Anderson  was 
occupying  some  of  his  leisure  in  showing  Scott  over 
a  few  of  the  nearer  claims,  including  his  own.  This 
he  was  just  about  to  give  over  to  a  friend,  as  mining 
law  forbids  a  man  to  hold  two  claims,  and  the  trip 
would  necessitate  empty  hands  on  the  part  of  all 
three  prospectors. 

The  engineer  Was  fascinated;  he  had  no  idea  that 
gold-mining  could  be  so  interesting.  He  showered 
questions  upon  Anderson,  and  picked  up  facts — as 
the  miner  afterwards  admitted,  out  of  his  pupil's 
hearing — like  a  pigeon  picking  up  peas.  Scott's 
intellect  was  a  good  tool  finely  handled;  he  was  no 
genius,  but  his  mind  went  where  he  wanted  it  to  go, 


102 

and  did  what  he  required  it  to  do.  In  the  course  of 
that  morning  he  learned  more  about  gold-mining  and 
prospecting  than  many  another  would  have  learned 
in  a  month. 

Anderson,  the  iron-faced,  the  silent,  began  to  like 
him,  and  even  to  feel  somewhat  proud  of  his  new 
chum  pupil.  It  was  with  a  view  of  showing  him  off 
that  he  took  him  down  to  another  claim  a  mile  or 
two  away,  and  introduced  him  to  another  miner — a 
white  anaemic  creature  with  glittering  eyes,  who  was 
seated  on  a  log  overlooking  the  boys. 

It  seemed  that  his  day's  work  was  done,  for  he 
rose  as  they  came  up  and  began  shaking  the  clay  off 
his  boots,  tightening  his  loosened  belt  and  pushing 
down  his  hat  on  his  head,  while  the  boys,  who  were 
doing  something  to  the  u  box,"  straightened  up  at 
his  whistle  and  began  to  climb  the  bank.  Down 
here  at  the  bottom  of  the  river-gorge,  stifled  by 
overhanging  trees,  one  felt  the  heat  oppressively; 
the  afternoon  thunderstorm  was  banking  up  in  the 
north-west,  purple  and  pewter-grey,  and  the  witches' 
dance  of  cloud-wreaths  was  beginning  across  the 
dark  green  summits  of  the  valley.  It  certainly 
seemed  time  to  go  home. 

"Going  up  to  the  store?"  asked  Anderson  of 
the  white-faced  man,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  been 
literally  boiled  in  the  steaming  woods  of  the  Ki- 
kiramu,  and  boiled  so  long  that  he  was  quite  over- 
done. 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  looking  at  Scott. 


GUINEA  GOLD  103 

"  Been  washing  up,  haven't  you?  "  asked  the  lat- 
ter.    "What  did  you  get?" 

The  white-faced  man  looked  at  him  again  and 
replied — 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  how  Tom  Mackay  grew  so 
fat?"  (mentioning  a  publican  well  known  in  the 
territory) . 

11  No,"  replied  Scott,  rather  bewildered. 

"  It  was,"  said  the  miner,  pausing  at  the  turn-off 
of  another  track,  "  by  minding  his  own  business." 

He  turned  his  back  and  disappeared  down  a  dark 
green  tunnel  of  leafage  lit  with  dangling  orchid 
blooms. 

"  I  reckon  I've  got  to  do  some  talking  to  you," 
observed  Anderson  at  this  juncture.  "  You'd  bet- 
ter understand  that  we  don't  ask  each  other  ques- 
tions like  that.  You're  my  partner,  and  I  didn't 
mind  your  asking  me  just  now  what  I  was  getting 
out  of  my  claim,  though  it  was  no  particular  business 
of  yours  anyway — but  don't  ask  the  men  what 
they're  making,  and,  particularly,  don't  let  a  man 
think  you're  spying  about  his  wash-up.  Do  you 
understand?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Scott,  with  a  good  temper  that  dis- 
armed the  other  at  once.  "  And  now  I'm  going  to 
do  some  talking  to  you.  Why  hadn't  you  savvy 
enough  to  see  what  he  was  wearing  round  his 
waist?  " 

M  Round  his  waist?  " 

"  His    belt    was    snakeskin — an    unusually    big 


104  GUINEA  GOLD 

python,  if  I  may  make  a  guess  after  being  so  short  a 
time  in  the  country.'* 

"Snakeskin?"    Anderson  was  still  puzzled. 

"  '  Where  the  big  python  killed  our  dog,'  "  quoted 
Scott.  "  I'm  no  Sherlock  Holmes — neither  are  you, 
it  seems — but  that  looks  to  me  enough  of  a  clue  to 
be  worth  an  inquiry  or  so." 

"  My  word!  "  A  pause.  "  I'm  going  after  him; 
I'll  see  you  at  the  store." 

When  the  three  partners  met  again  that  evening 
round  the  log  table  that  was  fixed  outside  the  store 
building  for  meals,  Anderson  was  wearing  a  snake- 
skin  belt,  made  from  a  very  large  python. 

"  I  paid  four  weights  for  that,"  he  remarked, 
pointing  it  out. 

Scott  was  about  to  say  something,  but  Anderson 
checked  him  with  a  glance.  They  were  alone  at  the 
table:  privacy,  however,  was  scarce  compatible  with 
a  split  log  wall  behind,  and  a  cook  getting  ready  the 
dinner  within  short  onion-range  of  the  human  nose. 

At  the  store  kept  on  the  field  by  the  philanthropic 
Carter  and  his  wife  (the  latter  absent  for  the  mo- 
ment) no  one  was  charged  anything  for  meals  or 
beds.  True,  meals  were  plain  tin  and  biscuit  for  the 
most  part,  and  beds  meant  a  yard  or  two  of  space 
beneath  the  verandah  wherein  to  pitch  one's  mos- 
quito net.  Also,  the  miners  got  most  of  their  stores 
there,  and  they  drank  "  for  the  good  of  the  house," 
so  that  Carter's  pickle-jars  of  coarse  river-gold 
waxed  many  between  the  runs  of  the  launch;  and 


GUINEA  GOLD  105 

Carter's  castles  in  Spain,  which  were  situated  in  the 
Toorak  quarter  of  Melbourne,  grew  wide  and  tall. 
But,  nevertheless,  he  was  a  good-natured  old  fel- 
low, and  liked  to  see  his  boarders  enjoy  themselves. 

After  dinner  was  over  the  three  partners,  at  a  sign 
from  Anderson,  strolled  away  from  the  store  and 
up  on  to  the  great  log  staircase  that  led  to  the  top 
of  the  gully.  In  any  other  country  the  staircase 
would  have  been  regarded  as  a  fine  piece  of  difficult 
road-making — it  is  not  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world 
to  make  a  way,  practicable  for  heavily  loaded  car- 
riers, and  stable  in  a  constant  rainfall  of  several 
feet  per  month,  up  a  greasy  clay  slope  of  one  in 
three,  through  dense  forests  matted  with  under- 
growth. But  in  the  Country  of  the  Impossible,  im- 
possible things  have  to  be  done  every  day.  A  hand- 
ful of  raw  cannibals  had  made  that  track  in  a  week 
or  two,  and  made  it  well.  The  miners  topped  it  as 
lightly  as  girls  tripping  in  satin  shoes  up  a  ball- 
room stairway.  Near  the  summit  there  was  a  shady 
bit  where  you  could  sit  down  on  one  of  the  cross- 
way  logs  close  to  the  big  trees  on  the  top  of  the 
ridge  and  look  away  over  the  rolling  sea  of  treetops 
to  the  peeping  blue  crests  of  some  unknown  Ger- 
man New  Guinea  range. 

The  three  men  got  out  their  pipes  and  began  to 
smoke.  Then  Anderson  spoke,  looking  at  the  far- 
off  fingers  of  lilac  smoke  that  marked  the  camps  in 
the  dense  green  of  the  "  bush." 


106  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  You  got  it  all  right  that  time.  Gabriel  told  me 
about  the  belt.  He  bought  the  skin  from  Cripps' 
cook-boy  after  he  died.  I  didn't  want  to  ask  too 
much  about  it,  and  Gabriel  is  a  bit  of  a  hatter  any- 
how— almost  forgotten  how  to  talk,  he's  been  here 
so  long.  But  he  did  say  something  that's  going  to 
be  of  use  to  us." 

Anderson  paused  provokingly  to  draw  at  his  pipe. 
In  the  moment  before  he  began  to  speak  again  the 
two  others  saw  brilliant  and  amazing  visions, — little 
parcels  the  size  of  your  hat,  sewn  up  in  ship  canvas 
and  monstrous  heavy,  like  those  the  storekeeper  had 
in  his  safe — suites  of  state  cabins  on  the  P.  &  O. — 
long  grey  motor-cars  with  glass  wind-shields  built 
to  do  seventy  an  hour — horses  in  a  string,  clothed 
and  hooded  and  out  for  exercise  on  an  empty  heath, 
under  grey  skies  of  the  North — thousand-ton  yachts 
with  clipper  bows  and  mirrored  saloons,  and  the 
blue-and-biscuit  coloured  shores  of  Italian  coasts, 
and  bays  showing  up  through  the  satin-hung  ports — 
the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  and  the  glory  of  them 
...  all  to  be  wrenched  out  of  this  wilderness  of 
the  Kikiramu  bush. 

"  It  seems,"  went  on  Anderson,  "  that  the  cook- 
boy  died  too — he  pegged  out  with  dysentery  not  long 
after  he  got  down  to  the  Kikiramu  camp.  But  be- 
fore that  he'd  sold  the  skin  to  Gabriel,  and  told 
him  where  it  was  got." 

Two  eager  faces  were  turned  to  Anderson.  The 
afternoon  thunderstorm  was  coming  up  fast:  it  was 


GUINEA  GOLD  107 

nearly  over  the  valley  now,  darkening  the  dark  of 
the  treetops,  blackening  the  shadowy  wolf-throat 
of  the  gorge. 

The  river,  hidden  far  away  below,  talked  thin 
and  clear  through  the  threatening  hush  of  the  skies. 

"  He  said,"  went  on  the  miner,  "  that  Cripps 
killed  the  python  on  an  island  in  a  creek,  where  it 
had  been  living  in  a  hollow  tree.  Now,  that  must 
have  been  a  fair-sized  island,  and  a  big  tree,  I 
reckon,  for  the  python  was  an  all-right  big  one.  He 
said,  too,  that  Cripps  and  the  boy  had  a  big  fight  to 
kill  the  brute,  and  that  it  smashed  their  dog  up  in 
its  coils  like  a  bit  of  biscuit.  That  shows  the  other 
boys  weren't  there — so  they  couldn't  have  told  us 
where  the  brute  was  killed.  All  we've  got  to  go 
on  is  that  bit  of  description,  but  it  may  be  worth 
everything  to  us.  I  think  our  chances  don't  look  too 
bad.  The  two  chaps  we  got  on  Ferguson  can  prob- 
ably find  the  country  he  was  working  in,  and  once 
we  get  so  far  we  can  locate  the  creek  if  we've  any 
luck  at  all.  That  was  a  lucky  shot  of  yours, 
Scott." 

Scott's  eyes  were  sparkling  with  pleasure,  but 
Dence  looked  more  sober. 

"  It  sounds  all  right,  but  this  is  a  rotten  bad 
country  for  givin'  you  surprises,"  he  remarked. 
"  However,  we'll  know  before  long.  Scoot,  you 
fellows,  if  you  want  us  to  miss  that  storm:  it's  just 
openin'  its  mouth." 

It  did  open  its  mouth  with  a  vengeance  some  two 


io8  GUINEA  GOLD 

or  three  minutes  later,  but  by  that  time  the  three 
were  under  shelter  in  the  verandah  of  the  store, 
after  a  flying  dive  down  the  giant  stairway  that 
would  have  given  points  to  Graham-White  or  the 
Wright  Brothers.  There  was  nobody  seated  on  the 
rough  log  bench  or  lounging  over  the  long  table  that 
the  store  proprietor  had  made  by  the  simple  process 
of  leaving  four  young  trees  in  their  native  earth  and 
nailing  packing-case  boards  across  the  stumps.  The 
store  building  clung  to  the  hip  of  the  gorge  like 
a  swallow's  nest  set  on  a  wall:  from  one  side  of 
the  verandah  Scott  could  throw  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe  right  into  the  young,  salad-green  foliage  at  the 
top  of  a  hundred-foot  tree.  In  front  the  immense 
drop-curtain  of  dark  forest  that  shut  off  a  full  third 
of  the  sky  was  swiftly  disappearing  behind  a  curdled 
flood  of  mist.  Before  the  men  had  shaken  off  the 
stray  drops  of  rain  from  their  hats  and  faces  the 
landscape  had  been  spirited  away,  and  the  store,  like 
some  new  Noah's  ark,  was  set  afloat  upon  a  track- 
less sea,  islanded  only  by  the  tops  of  the  highest 
trees. 

They  stood  looking  down  at  the  driven  breakers 
of  mist  and  at  the  snapping  sheets  of  lightning  that 
leaped  between  almost  ceaseless  stamps  and  thump- 
ings  of  thunder.  And  in  the  mist  they  saw — what 
the  men  of  Phoenicia  saw  when  they  set  their  high- 
beaked  ships  for  unknown  Africa — what  Cortez  and 
his  steel-breasted  soldiers  saw  when  they  fought 
through  Mexico  in  search  of  the  Land  of  Gold  long 


GUINEA  GOLD  109 

ago :  what  the  men  who  made  West  Australia  saw, 
in  the  drought-smitten  nineties,  when  they  tramped 
across  the  fiery  plains  strewn  white  with  skeletons  of 
horse  and  man,  to  the  deserts  and  gullies  that  bore 

"Death  in  their  hands,  but  gold!" 


"  If  we  don't  get  off  to-morrow,"  said  the  '  new 
chum/  "  will  you  let  me  go  down  and  work  your 
claim  for  a  day?  " 

"  I  reckon  we  shan't  get  off,"  answered  Ander- 
son. "  One  or  two  of  the  boys  seem  to  need  a  spell. 
Yes,  of  course  you  can :  I'll  make  you  a  present  of  all 
you  get — it  won't  be  much." 

"  I  don't  care  whether  it's  much  or  little,"  de- 
clared Scott,  his  boyish  face  lighting  up  with  a 
certain  hard  eagerness,  "  and  I  don't  want  to  keep 
it — but  I  feel  as  if  I  must  go  and  handle  it  some 
more — wash  out  the  dirt,  and  see  the  little  yellow 
specks  at  the  bottom,  and  put  them  together.  .  .  . 
This  gold-digging's  a  queer  thing — it  gets  hold  of 
you,  somehow." 

"  A  few  other  men  before  you  have  noticed  that," 
observed  Anderson  dryly. 

"  The  little  yellow  specks!  Don't  say  I  didn't 
warn  you  against  them,"  put  in  Dence.  "  There's 
nothing  like  them  for  getting  hold  of  you,  body  and 
soul !  Whiskey  isn't  in  it.  A  girl  isn't  in  it — even 
if  she  is  a  lovely  little " 


no  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  What?  "  said  Scott,  turning  round  sharply. 

"  A  lovely  little  lassie  in  the  North  of  Ireland," 
finished  Dence,  with  something  that  Scott  described 
to  himself  as  "  a  rather  three-cornered  look."  "  Or 
a  dozen — I'm  sure  you  left  quite  a  dozen  of  the 
braw  Antrim  leddies  crying  into  their  Robins  and 
Beaver  linen  handkerchiefs  on  the  Fleetwood  boat 
quay — agh,  man  dear,  sure  ye  did!" 

"  I  don't  care  for  that  sort  of  joke  very  much," 
said  Scott  patiently. 

"  Then  I'll  change  the  conversation  to  something 
altogether  different.  Do  you  know  that  there's  a 
mail  going  out  to-morrow?  The  R.M.  is  sending 
down  boys  to  the  landing  to  meet  the  Dragon-Fly 
before  she  goes  back." 

"A  mail  to  Samarai?"  said  Scott,  and  could 
have  bitten  his  tongue  out  immediately  after. 

"  To  everywhere,  via  Samarai,"  answered  Dence, 
the  three-cornered  expression  just  a  little  more  vis- 
ible than  before. 

"  Then  I'll  see  about  getting  some  letters  ready, 
if  there's  pen  and  ink  to  be  had  here,"  said  Scott. 

But,  somehow  or  other,  after  he  had  directed  and 
stamped  the  pencilled  letter  to  Janie  that  had  been 
growing  at  odd  moments  all  the  journey  through,  he 
did  not  feel  like  finishing  his  correspondence.  How 
could  you  write  letters  that  .  .  .  letters  which  .  .  . 
well,  anyhow,  important  letters — sitting  at  a  log 
table  on  an  open  verandah,  with  stray  miners  pass- 
ing in  and  out  of  the  store  every  now  and  then?    Be- 


GUINEA  GOLD  in 

sides,  there  was  too  much  noise.  When  people  had 
gone  to  bed   .    .    . 

By  eleven  o'clock  lights  were  out,  and  mosquito 
nets  up  all  along  the  verandah.  The  Kikiramu, 
swollen  with  rain,  sent  up  a  leaden  rumble  from  the 
bottom  of  the  gorge.  The  mopokes  wailed  like 
homeless  ghosts  away  in  the  blackness  of  the  bush. 
There  was  no  moon;  the  rain  poured  in  the 
dark. 

Scott  slipped  out  of  his  bunk,  pyjama-clad,  and  lit 
a  hurricane-lamp.  No  one  was  in  the  store,  and  the 
big  counter  made  an  excellent  writing-table.  He 
covered  several  sheets  of  paper,  writing  without  a 
pause,  closed,  stamped,  and  directed  the  envelope, 
and  put  it  in  the  box  left  for  mails. 

When  he  crept  back  to  his  bunk  he  did  not  sleep, 
but  lay  thinking  for  a  long  time. 

"  I'm  glad  I  wrote,"  he  decided.  "  She  will  feel 
she  has  a  friend.  '  Anything  I  can  do,  at  any  time — 
call  me — send  for  me  ' — yes,  that  was  the  right 
way  to  put  it.  If  we  make  a  lot  out  of  this  dis- 
covery— why,  if  one  has  money  enough,  and  will 
enough,  one  can  do  almost  anything — without  people 
finding  out.  And  she'll  want  help — little  Charmian ! 
the  little  bird  that  should  have  lived  in  a  safe,  quiet 
nest  .    .    .  she'll  never  make  it,  all  alone.  ..." 

For  he  knew  what  Charmian  did  not,  that  even 
the  small  foothold  she  had  secured,  in  her  uncon- 
genial work  as  barmaid,  was  tottering  beneath  her 
feet.     Figg  had  been   repenting  his  generosity  in 


ii2  GUINEA  GOLD 

engaging  her,  for  some  time,  and  had  not  scrupled 
to  say  so.  It  was  true  that  she  was  pretty,  but  that 
didn't  do  much  good  to  his  bar,  when  she  was  so 
shy  and  stuck  up  that  hardly  a  man  dared  to  speak 
to  her, — why,  she  was  enough  to  frighten  away  his 
custom  into  Bunn's!  A  bouncing  North  Queens- 
land girl,  who  would  joke  and  laugh,  and  take  her 
share  of  drink,  for  the  good  of  the  house — that 
would  have  been  a  dozen  times  better. 

Mother  Figg,  for  the  moment,  was  holding  out 
in  favour  of  Charmian:  she  was,  as  has  been  ex- 
plained, a  thoroughly  good-natured  woman,  and  felt 
sorry  for  the  innocent  little  waif.  How  long  her 
good  nature  would  continue  to  hold  out  against  a 
diminishing  tale  of  receipts  was  another  matter, 
however.  .  .  .  Yes,  Scott  felt  glad  he  had  sent  the 
letter — though  he  was  not  certain,  now  he  thought 
it  over,  that  he  had  not  worded  it  a  little — perhaps 
a  good  deal — more  warmly  than  was  fair — to  the 
other. 

But  even  if  he  had  she  would  never  see  it:  and, 
Heaven  knew,  he  had  meant  no  disloyalty. 

Next  morning  the  rain  was  over,  and  the  river 
had  run  itself  down  a  good  deal.  Anderson  pro- 
nounced his  claim  quite  fit  to  work,  if  Scott  really 
wanted  to  try  his  hand,  and  told  the  newcomer  what 
to  do — to  take  one  or  two  of  the  boys,  and  set  them 
to  work  shifting  the  big  stones  in  the  creek,  so  as 
to  leave  the  "  wash  "  free:  to  see  the  boys  loosen  it 


GUINEA  GOLD  113 

up  with  their  picks,  and  spade  the  gravel  that  car- 
ried the  gold  into  the  current  that  led  through  the 
"  box  " :  later  in  the  day,  to  lift  the  big  stones  out 
of  the  hollow  tree-trunk  through  which  the  water 
ran,  gather  up  all  the  small  stones,  gravel,  and 
clayey  stuff  at  the  bottom  by  degrees,  and  wash  it 
out  in  the  prospecting  dish  over  a  still  pool.  What- 
ever he  got  he  might  keep,  Anderson  insisted,  with 
the  miner's  generosity:  and  Scott  agreed,  for  the 
excitement  of  the  hunt  had  got  him,  and  he  ached 
to  finger  gold  of  his  very  own,  found  by  himself. 
In  any  case,  Anderson  meant  to  dispose  of  the 
claim  before  leaving  the  Kikiramu;  so  all  that  was 
got  was  saved  from  some  unknown  successor. 

He  did  not  return  all  day.  It  grew  very  hot :  the 
treetops  in  the  gorge  rose  up  still  as  spires  in  the 
windless  noon:  the  distant  peaks  of  the  German 
ranges  rumbled  coming  thunder.  Anderson  was 
quietly  busy,  tallying  stores  with  Carter  and  over- 
looking the  painted  canvas  swags  for  leaks  or  tears: 
answering  questions  now  and  then,  as  other  men 
drifted  into  the  store,  and  asked  him  about  his  pros- 
pecting trip.  He  was  very  quiet,  very  unembar- 
rassed i  quite  ready  to  discuss  the  journey  with  any- 
one who  wanted,  but  not  much  interested  in  it  or 
anything  else.  The  miners  "  reckoned  "  he  did  not 
expect  very  much  from  the  trip,  but  thought  it  bet- 
ter business  than  working  on  a  rather  poor  claim  in 
the  unprosperous  Kikiramu.  Dence  was  drinking 
more  than  was  good  for  him,  and  seemed  inclined 


ii4  GUINEA  GOLD 

to  be  quarrelsome:  one  would  almost  have  thought 
he  had  something  on  his  mind. 

Dinner  passed  over:  it  was  rather  a  good  dinner, 
considering  the  poor  materials,  and  the  few  miners 
who  had  dropped  in,  after  the  casual  fashion  of 
the  Kikiramu,  remarked  on  the  cooking.  Carter,  a 
nebulous  little  person,  all  beard  and  hat,  who  was 
supposed  scarcely  to  know  his  own  name,  unless  his 
wife  were  there  to  tell  it  to  him,  murmured  some- 
thing about  a  cook:  new  fellow  just  come  up  from 
Samarai:  lazy  brute  who  slept  in  the  cookhouse  all 
the  time  he  wasn't  getting  meals,  but  was  well  worth 
his  tucker  and  screw,  because  he  could  do  more  with 
a  tin  of  "  dog  "  and  a  handful  or  so  of  flour  than 
most  men  could.  Hadn't  wanted  a  cook,  but  had 
to  take  him  when  he  came  along  the  other  day,  be- 
cause the  fellow  was  "  stony,"  and  had  scarce  a 
pair  of  boots  to  his  feet,  and  anyhow,  there  was  no 
harm  in  him.  Seemed  he  meant  to  start  prospecting 
when  he  had  got  enough  to  hire  a  few  boys.  More 
fool  he:  the  Kikiramu 'was  nearly  about  done. 
Thus  Carter,  mumbling  in  his  beard,  and  not  listened 
to — no  one  ever  listened  to  Carter,  his  wife  least 
of  all. 

It  grew  to  afternoon:  the  rain  came  up  roaring, 
fell,  and  passed,  leaving  a  pleasant  freshness  in  the 
stifling  valley.  The  sun  got  behind  the  crest  of  the 
giant  forest  billow  above  the  store,  sent  out  mag- 
nificent rays  of  gold  and  thunder-blue  through  the 
treetops,  and  disappeared.    The  German  peaks  were 


GUINEA  GOLD  115 

yet  in  full  day,  but  darkness  was  coming  very  fast 
down  in  the  gorge  where  the  Kikiramu  ran. 

Not  till  the  rising  flood  of  night  lay  deep  on  stone 
and  stream  and  washed  about  the  higher  reaches  of 
the  great  log  staircase  on  the  cliff  did  Scott  return 
from  his  work.  The  boys  trailed  after  him,  hungry 
and  tired.  They  had  had  their  usual  "  spell  "  and 
food,  but  the  Taubada  (chief)  had  taken  neither, 
and  had  driven  them  all  day  as  the  mule-drivers 
drove  the  mules  that  carried  from  Port  Moresby  to 
the  ranges  of  the  Astrolabe.  There  was  no  sense 
in  the  thing,  for  they  were  not  on  good  gold — no 
one  knows  better  than  a  trained  mine  labourer  just 
what  his  master  is  getting — and  there  was  therefore 
no  precedent  for  frenzied  working,  such  as  the 
older  boys  had  seen  and  joined  in,  time  and  again, 
with  willing  hands,  when  Jimmy  So-and-so,  or  Bobby 
The-Other,  had  struck  it  rich,  and  was  taking  more 
out  of  a  few  yards  in  a  day  than  half  a  dozen  other 
claims  were  producing  in  a  week. 

If  the  boys  were  tired,  however,  Scott,  who  had 
been  working  harder  than  any  of  them  all  day, 
looked  quite  fresh.  He  was  unspeakably  dirty,  but 
that  seemed  to  trouble  him  not  at  all — though  as  a 
general  rule  he  was  somewhat  of  a  dandy  about  his 
clothes,  and  always  eager  for  a  clean  up  when  he 
had  had  a  dirty  job  to  do.  Now,  he  came  into  the 
store,  dripping  clay  and  water  all  over  the  dry 
earthen  floor,  and,  leaning  on  the  bar,  flung  down 
an  exceedingly  unclean  pocket-handkerchief  tied  into 


n6  GUINEA  GOLD 

a  knot  in  the  middle.  Undoing  the  knot,  he  spilled 
the  contents  into  his  dirty  palm,  and  held  it  out  to 
Anderson. 

"  How  much  is  that?  "  he  said  eagerly. 

Anderson  put  the  few  flakes  and  grains  of  dull 
gold  into  the  store-keeper's  scales. 

"  Just  on  fifteen  weights,"  he  said.  u  Not  too 
bad  for  a  beginner.  I  dare  say  you  let  as  much  get 
away  down  stream." 

"  That's  two  pounds  sixteen  shillings,"  com- 
mented Scott,  gazing  at  the  gold  hungrily.  "  It's 
an  awfully  rum  thing,  but,  do  you  know,  I  feel  as 
if  I'd  never  got  any  gold  that  was  really  mine  be- 
fore." 

He  took  the  grains  back  into  his  hand  and  caressed 
them. 

"  It  is — fascinating,"  he  said. 

Dence,  somewhat  "  flown  with  insolence  and 
wine,"  strolled  into  the  bar  from  his  lounging-seat 
on  the  verandah.  That  dimly  perceptible  aura  of 
long-ago  London — London  of  hansom-cabs  and  vic- 
torias, of  camellia  buttonholes,  of  the  early  days  of 
Gilbertian  comic  opera — clung  close  about  him  to- 
day: and  the  phantom  single  eyeglass  was  almost 
plain  to  see.  He  pulled  his  drooping  yellow  mous- 
tache with  one  hand  and  surveyed  the  curious  little 
scene  before  him.  Scott,  curled  over  his  gold  like  a 
cat  with  its  kitten,  did  not  notice  him. 

"  The  mail  is  gone,"  said  Dence,  his  English 
drawl  a  little  more  marked  than  usual.     "  Carriers 


GUINEA  GOLD  117 

got  away  early;  they'll  catch  the  Dragon-Fly  to- 
morrow, and  the  letters  will  get  to  Samarai  in  time 
for  the  Matungcts  down  trip." 

"  Eh?  "  said  Scott  absently,  stroking  a  flake  with 
his  finger-tip. 

"  The  mail's  away." 

"  What  mail?" 

Dence  laughed — unpleasantly — and  moved  out 
again.  Scott  looked  up  with  the  expression  of  one 
who  awakes. 

"  Oh — the  mail — of  course !  "  he  said. 

Anderson,  busy  with  swags  and  tins,  cast  a  glance 
of  his  imperturbable  green  eyes  in  the  direction  of 
the  two.  You  could  not  have  told  what  he  thought. 
You  never  could  tell  what  Anderson  thought. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Green  forest  was  round  them,  dark  green  forest 
always.  Green  forest  was  over  them,  a  hundred 
feet  above  their  heads.  They  saw  green  forest 
wave  on  wave,  when  they  halted  half  a  day  on  the 
crest  of  a  hill  to  fell  a  lookout,  and  find  where 
they  might  be.  When  the  forest  was  far  away  it 
looked  purple;  very  far  away  it  looked  pale  blue. 
It  reared  itself  up  towards  the  sun-bleached  sky 
sometimes,  on  the  necks  of  the  shouldering  ranges, 
three,  and  five,  and  eight,  and  ten  thousand  feet: 
it  flowed  down  again,  smooth  and  deep,  over 
straight-falling  precipices  and  gigantic  foothill 
stairs,  into  unsounded  depths  of  river  gorges.  And 
at  the  bottom  of  the  forest  sea  the  explorers  strug- 
gled on,  day  by  day,  towards  the  creek,  and  the 
island,  and  the  gold. 

"  Go  up  the  Iri  first  of  all,"  had  been  Anderson's 
decision.  The  Iri,  one  of  many  rivers  unmarked  on 
any  map,  and  only  known  some  ten  or  fifteen  miles 
back  from  the  mouth,  had  always  been  considered  a 
"  likely "  stream  by  the  miners  of  the  Kikiramu 
country.  Cripps  had  certainly  started  up  that  river 
when  he  left  the  field  on  the  last  journey  of  his 
chequered  life.     After  striking  the  Iri,   Anderson 

118 


GUINEA  GOLD  119 

said  they  would  find  out  from  the  boys  what  creeks 
or  branches  Cripps  had  followed.  On  one  of  these 
creeks — impossible  to  guess  where — there  would  be 
an  island  with  a  big  hollow  tree:  and  from  that 
island  they  would  begin  the  tracing  out  of  the  prob- 
lem indicated  by  the  letter.  Scott,  new  to  the  work, 
and  as  eager  to  "  fling  his  heart  before  him  "  here, 
in  the  Papuan  bush,  as  he  had  been  long  ago  when 
steering  a  four-year-old  across  stiff  country  behind 
the  Killultagh  Harriers,  wanted  to  map  out  the 
whole  plan  of  campaign  in  the  evenings  after  sup- 
per, while  the  three  white  men  sat  under  their  nar- 
row fly,  smoking  and  sheltering  from  the  steamy 
rain.  But  Anderson,  who  knew  better  than  he  the 
risk  of  getting  a  fixed  idea  on  the  brain,  in  these 
formidable  solitudes,  declined  to  go  into  the  matter 
at  all,  beyond  what  was  necessary  from  day  to  day. 
They  had  to  find  the  creek  and  the  island  first,  he 
said.  They  had  better  take  things  easy,  and  not 
worry. 

In  truth,  as  the  days  went  on,  the  high-strung 
Celt,  with  his  nervous  pluck,  and  that  other,  whose 
brain  was  eaten  into  at  the  finest  points  by  the 
nibbling  caterpillar  of  drink,  felt  more  and  more 
strongly  the  advantage  of  journeying  under  the 
guidance  of  such  a  man  as  Anderson.  For  him 
"  the  hardest  work  was  never  too  hard,  or  the 
longest  day  too  long."  He  was  never  anxious,  never 
discouraged.  His  iron-bark  face  never  showed  an- 
noyance or  fear:  to  the  latter,  indeed,  he  was  as 


120  GUINEA  GOLD 

nearly  insensible  as  a  human  being  could  be.  There 
was  one  hideous  day  when  the  little  expedition,  im- 
prisoned in  a  deep  stone-walled  gorge  they  had  been 
following  for  some  days,  found  themselves  likely  to 
be  caught  like  sewer  rats  in  a  drain  by  a  thunder- 
storm that  was  threatening  above  their  heads.  If  it 
came  and  got  them  there — there,  where  they  had 
to  climb  and  leap  down  the  centre  of  the  river  on  the 
tops  of  the  boulders,  because  there  was  not  footing 
for  a  fly  anywhere  near  the  edge — not  one  of  the 
party  would  live  half  an  hour.  Scott  knew  this  as 
well  as  the  others,  for  he  had  seen  the  mountain 
rivers  of  Papua  rise  after  rain,  and  knew  what  they 
could  do  when  confined  to  a  natural  race  like  this 
gorge  of  beetling  stone.  In  such  a  place  the  rapids 
raised  by  a  sudden  flood  might  be  heard  half  a  mile 
away,  like  the  roar  of  countless  railway  trains  all 
approaching  one  junction  together.  .  .  .  You  would 
not  hear  another  sound,  even  if  four-and-thirty 
human  beings,  caught  in  a  trap,  were  being  beaten 
to  death  among  those  cruel  rocks.  .    .    . 

That  afternoon  the  expedition  walked  in  the 
shadow  of  near  and  ugly  death  from  two  o'clock 
till  six.  The  roll  of  distant  thunder  from  the  ranges 
sounded  in  their  ears  like  the  turning  of  the  hinges 
on  Eternity's  opening  gates.  A  flash  of  lightning 
stabbed  as  if  it  had  struck.  A  drop  of  rain  falling 
on  a  man's  hand  came  heavy  as  coffin-lead.  For,  if 
the  clouds  once  broke,  and  still  there  were  no  way 
up  and  out,  twenty  brief  minutes  would  see  the  end. 


GUINEA  GOLD  121 

The  poor  black  boys,  heavy  laden  with  their 
swags,  scrambled  along  at  top  speed,  frightened, 
yet  not  realising  all  the  danger.  Dence  made  little 
jokes  now  and  then  about  "  old  Peter "  looking 
out  for  them  at  the  gate,  and  about  the  white  night- 
dresses and  spiky  crowns  they  would  have  to  try 
and  sleep  in  that  night.  Scott,  sickeningly  reluctant 
to  die,  could  do  nothing  but  hold  his  tongue  and  get 
along  over  the  stones,  his  whole  being  aflame  against 
the  relentless  powers  that  were  threatening  to  blot 
him  out,  here  and  now,  without  the  gold,  without 
the  woman,  without  anything  at  all  but  a  black  cold 
vacancy  into  which  he  scarcely  dared  to  look — alone. 
And  Anderson 

Anderson  kept  the  party  at  the  highest  pace  it 
could  make,  slacking  when  necessary,  pressing  on  as 
he  saw  the  boys  and  the  white  men  could  stand  it. 
He  watched  the  sky,  and  he  watched  the  beetling 
walls  of  the  gorge.  He  climbed  those  walls  again 
and  again,  and  again  and  again  fell  back,  beaten, 
bleeding,  but  not  discouraged.  Dence  was  swag- 
gering in  the  face  of  death,  Scott,  in  his  heart,  was 
cursing,  but  Anderson  was  just  as  he  was  when 
checking  goods  in  Carter's  store,  or  overseeing  the 
clearing  of  their  track.  He  had  something  to  do, 
and  was  doing  it.  He  would  go  on  doing  it  till 
there  was  no  more  to  be  done. 

And  Scott,  through  all  the  struggling,  and  the 
exhaustion,  and  the  smothering  heat,  and  the  grow- 
ing dark — dark  that  might  never  lift  to  dawn  for 


122  GUINEA  GOLD 

them — saw,  and  wondered  at,  the  soul  of  a  man 
who  knew  not  fear. 

They  escaped.  When  the  rain  had  actually 
broken,  and  the  ominous  talk  of  the  river  about 
their  feet  was  rising  to  a  rattling  snarl,  one  of  the 
mountain  boys  pointed  out  a  crack  in  the  side  of  the 
cliff.  Anderson  was  into  it  and  swarming  up  like 
a  chimney-sweep  in  a  chimney  before  the  boy  had 
finished  speaking.  There  was  a  moment  of  suffocat- 
ing suspense,  and  then — 

"  Sling  me  a  line,''  called  Anderson  above  the 
gathering  death-roar  of  the  river.  "  You  can  all 
get  a  start  up  the  cliff  if  I  haul." 

Dence  was  very  gay  in  the  camp  that  night,  up 
on  the  crest  of  the  cliff,  with  the  flooded  river 
thundering  below.  He  sang  comic  songs,  and  was 
imitative,  and  witty,  and  rather  profane.  Scott  felt 
tired  enough  to  sink  through  his  canvas  bunk  into 
the  ground  beneath :  his  store  of  nervous  force  was 
an  emptied  cistern,  run  dry  by  the  strain  of  the  day. 
Anderson  sewed  rough  patches  on  his  clothes,  and 
made  a  few  remarks  about  the  favourite  for  the 
Melbourne  Cup.  The  afternoon  was  over:  he  was 
not  thinking  about  it  at  all. 

"When  are  we  going  to  strike  the  In?"  asked 
Scott. 

There  was — for  once — something  of  a  view  this 


GUINEA  GOLD  123 

morning.  They  had  camped  on  the  top  of  one  of 
the  usual  knife-edge  ridges,  just  where  the  fall  of  a 
huge  cottonwood  had  cleared  away  a  canon  of  forest. 
There,  one  could  look  out  and  away,  over  the  bil- 
lowing world  of  treetops,  coloured  dainty  emerald 
green  in  the  six  o'clock  sun,  and  creased  here  and 
there,  deeply  and  softly  as  an  arm  creases  at  the 
elbow,  to  show  where  the  unseen  river  valleys  ran. 
One  could  see  the  royal  purple  of  the  five-thousand- 
foot  peaks,  with  the  mists  of  day  just  beginning  to 
gather  in  bridal  veils  of  cloud  about  their  heads, 
and '  one  could  glimpse,  very  far  away,  the  chal- 
cedony blue  of  mighty  unknown  crests,  Dianas  of 
the  mountain  world,  ever  desired,  and  ever  un- 
won. 

It  was  a  magnificent  view.  But  when  you  have 
spent  a  week  or  two  in  learning  the  inner  meaning  of 
magnificent  views,  considered  not  as  landscape,  but 
as  routes  of  travel,  you  are  likely  to  look  upon  the 
most  beautiful  of  scenery  with  a  somewhat  callous 
eye.  The  three  white  men  only  saw  that  the  coun- 
try ahead  was  "  the  same  old  thing,"  and  Scott,  at 
least,  sighed  a  little. 

Half  a  dozen  of  the  boys,  who  had  been  looking 
anxiously  (in  a  direction  many  points  removed  from 
the  right  one)  for  a  glimpse  of  the  sea  that  would 
take  them  back  to  their  island  homes,  created  a 
diversion  by  flinging  themselves  upon  the  ground 
and  weeping  bitterly. 

"  We-fellow  never  go  back  some  time  no  more," 


124  GUINEA  GOLD 

wailed  the  biggest,  a  sturdy  little  savage  with  a  mop 
of  hair  as  big  as  a  sofa-cushion.  "  Altogether  we- 
fellow  finish  along  this  place.  No  good  this  place." 
He  howled  like  a  dog. 

"  Oh,  stop  your  confounded  row!"  said  Dence. 
They  had  all  been  hoping  to  get  a  sight  of  the  Iri 
from  this  point,  and  everyone  was  feeling  the  dis- 
appointment too  much  to  have  any  sympathy  with 
this  Papuan  Mrs.  Gummidge,  who  persisted  in 
"  feeling  it  more." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Anderson  in  reply  to  Scott's 
question.  "  This  is  all  untrodden  country,  and  no- 
body knows  exactly  how  the  Iri  runs:  we  can  only 
guess  at  the  way  it  ought  to.  We're  far  enough 
up  country  now  to  strike  the  upper  waters,  if  we 
could  find  it — you  know,  there's  no  looking  for  gold 
on  the  lower  waters  of  a  river." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

u  Strike  west  of  this,  I  reckon.  By  the  lie  of 
those  hills  there  should  be  a  big  river  somewhere 
near  the  horizon.  We  might  hit  it  in  a  couple  of 
days." 

"Or  mightn't?" 

"  Or  mightn't.  We'd  better,  though.  The  tucker 
won't  last  forever." 

11  Well,"  said  Scott,  after  a  minute's  pause,  "  ex- 
ploring is  interesting  enough — and  exciting — but  it 
isn't  at  all  like  what  one  fancied." 

"  I  know  what  you  fancied,"  observed  Dence. 
u  You  were  to  start  in  the  early  morn,  with  the  dew- 


GUINEA  GOLD  125 

drops  twinklin'  on  the  grass,  and  step  out  gaily  over 
a  palmy  plain,  carryin'  your  trusty  shot-gun,  and 
singin'  as  you  went.  You'd  camp  for  lunch  beside 
a  boundin'  brook " 

"  They  bound  all  right,"  put  in  Anderson  dryly. 

11  Don't  interrupt  my  beautiful  English — beside  a 
boundin'  brook,  where  you'd  light  a  fire  and  roast 
the  deer  and  the  bears  and  the  wild  boars  you'd  shot 
as  you  came  along.  In  the  evenin',  beside  the  glow- 
in'  camp-fire,  song  and  story  and  jest " 

"  Oh,  shut  it,  Dence,  I'm  not  a  new  chum  now, 
and  I  never  was  such  an  idiot  as  you  make  out.  But 
it's  true  enough  that  I  didn't  realise  the  food  diffi- 
culty. It  seems  that  every  expedition  splits  on  that 
rock." 

"  Sooner  or  later — the  idea  is  to  make  it  as  late 
as  possible,"  said  Anderson.  "  I  suppose  it's  about 
the  hungriest  country  in  the  world.  You  get  a  pig 
or  a  wallaby  once  in  a  blue  moon,  and  as  to  food 
from  the  natives,  it's  like  what  the  Frenchman  at  sea 
said  when  they  asked  him  if  he'd  had  his  breakfast 
— '  Quite  the  contrary.'  " 

"  Yes,  I  rather  guessed  what  they  meant  when 
they  pinched  our  arms  and  legs  at  that  little  village 
the  other  day,"  agreed  Scott.  "  And  small  as  it 
was,  it  was  the  only  one  we've  seen.  This  is  a  God- 
forsaken place." 

"  As  to  God-forsaken,  I  won't  argue,"  said  An- 
derson. "  But  as  to  men — there  are  probably  a 
good  many  more  than  we've  any  idea  of." 


126  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  Do  you  mean  they're  stalking  us?  "  asked  Scott, 
with  a  queer  little  adventurous  feeling  stealing 
through  him. 

"  I  wouldn't  worry  about  that.  Look  here,  do 
you  see  where  the  country  seems  to  take  a  bit  of  a 
lean  down  towards  the  west?  That's  where  we're 
going  to  head  for  now.  Time  we  got  off.  Dence, 
don't  loaf,  it's  your  job  to  see  the  tents  struck,  and 
you  oughtn't  to  want  telling.  You  hurry  up  and 
help  me  with  the  carriers,  Scott:  get  a  move  on  you. 
I  believe  we'll  have  the  rain  early  to-day." 

The  party  took  up  the  hand-to-hand  fight  with 
nature  once  more,  at  the  point  where  it  had  been 
abandoned  last  night.  .  .  .  All  day  scrambling  up 
and  plunging  down:  edging  along  impossible  gorges 
where  indignant  white  cockatoos  skimmed  and 
shrieked  through  blue  vacancy,  below  the  toes  of 
your  rusty,  string-laced  boots :  climbing  down  where 
you  never  could  get  up,  and  up  where  you  certainly 
never  could  get  down  again:  creeping,  half  a  mile 
an  hour,  behind  the  boys  and  their  slashing  knives, 
through  dense  green  jungle  where  the  sunlight 
dripped  down  like  starshine  into  a  well;  seeing  your 
hands  wrinkle  up  like  a  washerwoman's  with  the 
ceaseless  soak  of  perspiration,  and  watching  the 
other  men's  shirts  stick  in  black  patches  to  their 
back  and  arms:  smelling  the  forest  smell  of  wet 
earth  and  sopping  mosses,  and  hearing — when  the 
party  halted  for  a  moment  to  bring  some  straggler 


GUINEA  GOLD  127 

into  line — the  aloof,  unfriendly  murmur  of  the  giant 
trees  that  shut  away  the  day,  and  the  treacherous 
low-voiced  talk  of  baffling  rivers  that  struck  up 
hands  of  prohibition  across  your  track,  a  dozen 
times  in  a  morning.   .    .    . 

Yet  withal,  to-day  was  not  quite  as  yesterday. 
The  brooding  sense  of  solitude  was  gone. 

One  listened  for  cracking  sticks  in  the  forest. 
One  saw  shadows  that  moved  .  .  .  did  they  not? 
...  in  the  dark  where  the  river  walls  curved  in, 
behind  the  many  waterfalls.  One  fancied  the  birds, 
that  rose  screaming  out  of  glades  as  deep  and  green 
as  the  midmost  Coral  Seas,  had  been  frightened 
...  by  what? 

When  one  halted  for  lunch,  one  sat  on  a  fallen 
log,  eating  one's  measured  ration  of  tin  and  biscuit, 
with  an  odd  feeling  about  one's  shoulder-blades — 
a  feeling  that  made  one  want  to  look  round — at 
nothing — and  reflect,  without  any  apparent  reason, 
that  a  brick  wall  was  a  comfortable  thing  to  lean 
against  ...  if  one  had  it. 

And  when  the  tiring  hour  of  three  o'clock  came 
round,  that  hour  that  tests  endurance  and  spirit,  for 
men  on  the  march,  as  surely  as  Wellington's  three- 
o'clock-in-the-morning  tests  military  courage,  one 
felt,  as  always,  that  sundown,  supper,  and  sleep  were 
as  far  away  as  Paris  or  St.  Petersburg:  and  one 
felt,  too,  that  something  else — something  intangible, 
a  brooding  weight  upon  the  heavy  air,  a  shade  upon 


128  GUINEA  GOLD 

the  shadow  of  the  eternal  forests — was  .  .  .  not 
so  very  far  away. 

About  four  o'clock,  as  they  were  creeping  in  In- 
dian file  up  the  face  of  a  deeply-wooded  slope,  some- 
thing happened.  An  arrow  out  of  nowhere  in  par- 
ticular (who  could  tell,  in  that  chaos  of  jungle?) 
went  past  Dence's  shoulder  with  a  kind  of  low 
whoop,  and  plunged  a  foot  and  a  half  into  the  earth 
of  the  rise.  Another  skimmed  so  close  to  Scott's 
head  that  he  was  not  sure  whether  he  had  been  hit 
or  not,  until  he  saw  the  weapon  quivering  in  the 
trunk  of  a  tree.  It  went  deep  into  the  solid  wood. 
.  .  .  One  could  not  help  thinking,  in  a  swift,  un- 
pleasant "  aside,"  that  the  human  body  was  a  mushy 
sort  of  thing  at  best.  Soft  tearable  skin,  pulpy 
internal  organs,  that  a  chance  prick  would  disable — 
what  an  unsatisfactory  fragile  engine  wherewith  to 
confront  the — there  it  went  again !  just  missed  the 
head  boy,  and  set  the  others  howling !  Was  anyone 
hit? 

"  Put  down  your  swags,  and  get  your  rifles  ready," 
said  Anderson  to  the  boys,  in  exactly  the  same  tone 
that  he  used  when  ordering  them  to  halt  for  lunch. 
The  boys,  chattering  with  excitement,  obeyed.  The 
white  men  had  already  shouldered  their  arms.  They 
were  all  facing  the  same  way — across  the  track — it 
seemed  that  Anderson,  at  least,  knew  whence  the 
arrows  were  coming.  Scott  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Dence's  face,  and  scarcely  knew  it:  it  was  suddenly 
younger,  and  the  blue  eyes  glittered.     He  saw  his 


GUINEA  GOLD  129 

own  left  hand  extended  along  the  rifle  barrel,  and 
felt  the  cool  steel  of  the  trigger  against  the  middle 
finger  of  the  right. 

"  Look  out.  Now  then,  fire  into  the  bush !  "  said 
Anderson,  firing  himself  as  he  spoke. 

The  boys  had  been  drilled  now  and  then  through- 
out the  trip,  but  their  excitement  got  the  better  of 
them  now,  and  a  good  many  shots  flew  up  into  the 
tops  of  the  trees — some  went  perilously  near  the 
whites.  Anderson,  Dence  and  Scott  aimed  for  the 
thickest  part  of  the  forest,  and  shot  straight  into  it. 

The  smoke  cleared  away.  The  chorus  of  bird- 
screams  died.  Silence,  a  hundred  times  more  still 
than  the  virgin  quiet  of  the  forest  undisturbed  by 
man,  fell  upon  the  bush  and  track.  Then,  from  far 
away  in  the  gloomy  green,  a  cry  rose.  It  lifted  and 
lifted,  thin  and  sharp-edged.  It  sank,  full  of  pro- 
test, rattled  and  broke.  And  Scott,  who  had  seen 
men  die,  but  never  heard  one  before,  knew,  never- 
theless, that  in  the  seconds  of  that  cry,  the  green 
forest,  and  the  sun,  and  the  good  days  and  nights  of 
warm,  familiar  earth  had  dropped  away,  for  one 
poor  Papuan  soul,  into  the  dark. 

11  That's  enough,"  said  Anderson,  lowering  his 
rifle.  He  opened  the  breech,  and  replaced  the 
cartridge  just  fired.  The  boys  dropped  their  guns, 
and  fell  into  line  again.  Dence,  with  that  sparkle 
still  on  his  face,  ranged  up  to  the  other  men. 

"  I  believe  I  bagged  the  bird,"  he  said.  "  That 
cry  came  from  the  very  place  I  aimed  at." 


130  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  I'm  glad  I  didn't,"  said  Scott,  a  sense  of  relief 
passing  over  him  like  a  breath  of  cool  air.  He  felt — 
not  exactly  sorry,  not  shocked,  but  just  a  little  sea- 
sick.   Anderson  threw  a  glance  at  him. 

"  It  has  to  be  done,"  he  said,  and  started  the 
column  again. 

One  of  the  boys,  an  Orokiva,  was  so  delighted 
with  the  little  brush,  that  he  could  not  be  got  on  for 
a  minute  or  two;  he  seemed  to  have  gone  "  kava- 
kava  "  for  the  moment,  and  stood  and  danced  in  the 
pathway,  singing  a  war-chant. 

"  Stir  that  beggar  up  with  a  stick,  Dence,  and 
let's  go  on,"  called  Anderson  from  the  head  of  the 
column. 

"  Hold  on  a  bit,"  said  Dence.  u  He's  singin'  a 
very  rummy  sort  of  song,  this  Johnnie,  and  I  want 
to  hear  what  it  is.     I  know  some  Orokiva." 

"  Oh,  you  know  every  lingo  in  the  country,  1 
reckon,"  said  Anderson,  "  but  this  isn't  a  time  for 
studying  philology.    Get  him  on." 

"•You  wait,"  persisted  Dence. 

The  boy  finished  his  song,  came  down  to  earth 
again,  and  promptly  demanded  tobacco.  Dence,  as 
promptly,  poked  him  in  the  back  with  his  rifle,  and 
started  him  into  the  column. 

"  Got  the  artistic  temperament  bad,  that  chappie," 
he  observed.  "  Always  wants  refreshment  after 
expressin'  itself,  the  artistic  temperament  does. 
Prima-donna  needs  Perrier-Jouet  in  her  dressin'- 
room,  painter  and  his  model  have  a  can  of  beer 


GUINEA  GOLD  131 

from  round  the  corner,  I  want  half  a  dozen  drinks 
of  any  sort  you  like,  when  I've  been  more  than  com- 
monly eloquent  and  amusin'.  And  this  Papuan 
Johnnie  wants  tobacco,  after  doin'  his  little 
bit." 

14  You're  talking  too  much,"  said  Anderson,  with 
pioneer  simplicity. 

44  I'll  talk  more  by  and  by,"  answered  Dence,  fall- 
ing silent.  Scott  thought  his  behaviour  rather  odd, 
but  there  was  plenty  to  think  about  just  then,  with 
the  pace  that  Anderson  chose  to  set  through  the 
jungle,  and  the  impression  did  not  remain  long  upon 
his  mind. 

No  one  said  much  about  the  attack;  it  seemed  to 
be  a  matter  of  small  importance  to  the  two  old 
hands,  once  it  was  over,  and  Scott  himself  was  as- 
tonished to  find  how  little  it  had  really  impressed 
him,  beyond  the  immediate  horror  of  that  dying 
cry.  They  halted  to  cut  a  small  lookout,  by  and  by : 
and  Anderson  informed  them  that  the  Iri  was  not 
very  far  away.  Nothing  whatever  was  to  be  seen 
but  the  usual  ocean  of  treetops,  but  the  trend  of  the 
various  slopes  seemed  to  have  conveyed  something 
to  the  eye  of  the  trained  bushman,  that  Scott  was 
powerless  to  understand. 

44  There's  a  big  sago  swamp  down  there,"  said 
Anderson,  pointing  to  a  slight  variation  in  the  tex- 
ture of  the  forest  at  one  spot  a  good  way  off.  "  If 
we  can  make  that  before  sundown,  we'll  camp  near 
it.     We  shall  have  to  start  crossing  it  early  to- 


i32  GUINEA  GOLD 

morrow :  one  had  better  not  get  stuck  in  a  swamp  in 
the  dark." 

"  Might  get  drowned,  I  suppose?"  asked  Scott. 

"  I  don't  think  you'd  get  drowned,"  was  Ander- 
son's reply.     "  Go  on,  boys." 

At  sundown  they  were  near  the  swamp,  and  there 
was  fair  camping-ground  available,  also  water. 
After  supper,  pickets  were  chosen  from  among  the 
boys,  and  Anderson  told  the  white  men  that  they 
also  would  keep  watch  and  watch  through  the  night. 
He  did  not  expect  any  attack,  he  said,  but  in  this 
country  it  was  as  well  to  leave  no  possible  loophole 
for  accident. 

After  supper,  at  eight  o'clock,  Scott  and  Anderson 
turned  in,  while  Dence  kept  watch.  At  eleven,  Scott 
was  to  relieve  him.  Anderson  would  take  duty  at 
two,  and  wake  the  whole  company  at  five. 

They  were  all  rather  more  tired  than  usual  that 
night,  and  Scott's  turn  seemed  to  him  to  come  be- 
fore he  had  fairly  closed  his  eyes.  Dence  had  left 
him  part  of  a  billy-can  of  strong  cold  tea  (Anderson 
had  forbidden  fires),  and  he  swallowed  it  at  a 
draught,  to  drive  away  the  sleepiness  that  held  down 
his  eyelids.  It  was  very  dark,  and  very  still.  The 
boys  were  sleeping  like  the  dead,  beneath  their 
faintly  glimmering  white  flies,  all  save  the  two 
yawning  sentries,  who  had  to  be  found  and  felt  for 
in  the  dark  now  and  then,  and  poked  up  with  the 
butt  of  a  rifle.  Apart  from  that  duty,  one  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  sit  on  a  log,  wonder  if  there  were 


GUINEA  GOLD  133 

many  snakes  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  listen  to 
the  soft  sliding  of  the  little  creek  beside  which  they 
had  camped,  into  the  unseen  swamp. 

Scott  opened  his  watch  and  felt  the  face.  Twelve 
o'clock — two  hours  more.  It  was  getting  almost 
cool;  his  hands  were  dry,  and  the  perspiration  had 
ceased  trickling  down  the  back  of  his  neck.  A  bell- 
bird  sounded  from  a  long  way  off — tank-tank ! — just 
like  a  horse-bell. 

One  o'clock.  Scott  began  to  want  a  drink.  It 
would  be  easy  to  step  down  into  the  bed  of  the  little 
creek,  where  it  widened  out  to  join  the  swamp,  and 
put  one's  face  in  a  pool.  .   .    . 

Three  or  four  steps  in  the  dark — this  liana  stuff 
was  a  nuisance;  one  could  not  bend  down.  .    .    . 

By  heaven,  that  was  a  curious  smell !  Could  the 
water  be  good  to  drink?  was  there  anything  dead  in 
it?  And  yet — the  smell  was  not  exactly  like  putrid 
stuff ;  it  was  loathsome,  yet  scented  in  a  way — like — 
like — a  perfumed  corpse. 

Scott  sniffed — sniffed  again.  He  did  not  like  it, 
though  he  could  not  tell  why.  Something  impelled 
him  to  turn  backwards  in  the  dark  up  the  sloping 
bank,  and  find  his  way  to  the  flies  again,  thirsty  as 
he  was.  After  all,  it  was  only  half  an  hour  or  so 
now.   .   .    . 

Close  on  two  o'clock;  almost  time  to  awaken 
Anderson.  He  would.  .  .  .  Great  God,  what  was 
that? 

There  are  no  cattle  in  the  Papuan  wilds,  but  it 


134  GUINEA  GOLD 

sounded  like  the  roaring  of  a  bull.  There  are  no 
ocean  liners  on  the  Iri,  yet  it  seemed  as  if  the  siren 
of  a  steamer  had  been  suddenly  let  off  within  fifty 
yards  of  the  camp.  A  horrible  sound,  a  sound  to 
make  a  man's  blood  run  cold,  heard  in  those  mys- 
terious wilds,  in  the  dark,  with  that  loathsome  smell 
so  close  at  hand. 

Scott  stood  still  where  he  was,  rifle  ready  to  swing 
up  on  his  shoulder,  listening  to  the  stirring  and 
cackling  of  the  awakened  boys.  It  was  only  a  few 
seconds  before  he  felt  Anderson's  hand  on  his  arm 
in  the  darkness. 

"  We'll  have  to  chance  the  natives,  and  light  a 
fire,"  said  the  miner.  "  This  place  is  full  of  alli- 
gators— there !  " 

It  was  the  hideous  snarling  bellow  again,  so  near 
as  to  send  a  trembling  through  the  air.  From  some 
way  off,  another  answered  it.  A  third  and  a  fourth 
took  up  the  cry.  And  the  loathsome  scented  smell 
suddenly  grew  thicker. 

"  They're  too  close,"  said  Anderson.  "  This  must 
be  the  rendezvous  of  half  the  alligators  in  the  coun- 
try. I  never  heard  so  many  together.  This  won't 
do." 

He  had  half  a  dozen  of  the  awakened  boys  up  in 
a  minute,  and  started  them  cutting  wood  by  the  light 
of  a  hurricane  lantern.  A  fire  was  made,  and  the 
natives  crowded  round  it,  pushing  each  other  almost 
into  the  flames,  shuddering,  looking  back  over  their 
shoulders  into  the  dark. 


GUINEA  GOLD  135 

"  Does  a  fire  keep  them  off?  "  asked  Scott,  stand- 
ing beside  Anderson,  and  watching  the  impenetrable 
black  under  the  trees. 

"  It  ought  to.  There's  really  not  much  risk  with 
a  big  party.  Two  or  three  natives  by  themselves 
would  probably  not  have  much  chance.  The  fact  is, 
you  never  can  tell  what  an  alligator  will  or  won't 
do.  Mostly,  he's  a  cowardly  brute,  but  sometimes 
he  isn't.  He  gets  desperate  when  really  hungry — 
or  if  there  are  a  lot  of  them.  There  it  is  again. 
Must  be  a  sort  of  home  for  lost  alligators,  to  judge 
by  the  row." 

He  slung  his  rifle  up  on  his  shoulder,  and  walked 
a  few  yards  away. 

"  Can't  see  anything,"  he  said,  "  but  you  can't  see 
them  in  daylight  often,  when  they're  close  at  hand. 
I  suppose  they've  smelt  us  out,  and  that's  what  is 
bringing  them  about.  We  have  to  cross  the  swamp 
to-morrow,  but  I  think  it'll  be  all  right  then." 

The  bellowing  sounded  farther  off  after  the  fire 
was  lit,  but  did  not  cease  altogether  till  sunrise.  In 
the  daylight,  the  swamp  looked  ugly  enough.  It  was 
mostly  black  mud  and  slime,  cut  up  by  channels  of 
stagnant,  ill-smelling  water.  So  many  trees  had 
fallen,  however,  that  there  was  little  difficulty  mak- 
ing a  way  through,  and  when  there  was  a  big  gap 
of  choking  mud,  the  boys  readily  bridged  it  with 
another  tree.  The  mud  was  boiling  with  crabs  and 
creeping  things;  the  sun,  scarce  tempered  by  the 
thin  fronds  of  the  sago  palms,   struck  fiercely  on 


i36  GUINEA  GOLD 

the  slow-moving  column  of  Papuans  and  whites.  It 
was  less  than  two  miles  across  the  swamp,  but  they 
were  not  clear  of  it  for  near  two  hours.  All  the  time 
the  boys  kept  an  eager,  frightened  watch  for  alli- 
gators, and  the  white  men,  too,  were  on  the  alert. 
But  not  a  claw  or  a  snout  showed  among  the  poison- 
ous green  weeds  and  grasses,  not  a  sound  rose  from 
the  simmering  pools  of  scum. 

"  You  see,  they  don't  trouble  in  daylight,"  said 
Anderson. 

He  saw  the  last  boy  out  of  the  swamp,  set  the  way 
up  another  of  the  usual  razor-back  ridges,  and  took 
the  lead.    Dence  and  Scott  were  left  as  rear-guard. 

"  I  say,"  said  the  latter,  "what  on  earth  did 
Anderson  take  us  through  that  place  for,  anyhow? 
You  can't  ask  him  questions,  unless  you  want  your 
head  bitten  off,  but  I  really  want  to  know." 

"  Oh,  it  was  reasonable  enough,"  answered  Dence. 
"  By  the  way  the  Iri  valley  runs,  we  have  saved  a 
day's  march,  if  not  two,  taking  this  route.  We 
should  have  had  a  five  thousand  foot  range  to  cross, 
which  we've  escaped." 

"  What  would  you  take,  to  go  across  in  the 
dark?" 

"  Nobody  would  take  anything,  to  be  such  a 
bloomin'  fool." 

They  were  partly  up  the  rise  now,  and  they  turned 
to  look  back.  The  swamp  stretched  below,  black, 
simmering,  sinister — a  very  witch's  cauldron  of  evil. 

Years  afterwards,  Scott  remembered  just  how  that 


GUINEA  GOLD  137 

other  looked — the  glitter  of  the  blue  English  eyes, 
staring  far  away  at  something  that  seemed  beyond 
the  range  of  his  own  sight:  the  sudden  shadow  that 
swept  across  those  fine,  worn  features,  like  a  dark 
wing  fleeting  over  a  sunny  field.  ...  It  was  gone — 
if  it  had  ever  been.  Dence  turned  to  face  the  hill 
again. 

14  '  A  goose  walking  over  my  grave !  '  "  he  quoted, 
with  a  laugh.  Give  us  a  smoke,  Scott — I'm  out. 
This  blessed  country  gets  on  your  nerves." 

44  What  was  the  boy  singing  yesterday?"  asked 
Scott,  by  and  by,  when  they  paused  to  breathe  the 
carriers. 

44  A  queer  thing,"  answered  the  other.  "  He  was 
chantin'  his  own  bravery,  of  course,  and  about  the 
guns,  and  the  arrows  the  little  beasts  in  the  bush 
had  been  peggin'  at  us.  And  then  he  was  singin' 
about " 

"What?" 

44  Don't  quite  understand  it.  He  said  his  white 
men  were  brave,  and  the  Orokivas  were  brave,  but 
the  other  white  man  ran  away  into  the  bush.  Now, 
there  wasn't  any  other  white  man." 

44  No,  of  course." 

44  But — I  picked  up  a  queer  thing  on  the  track — 
that  time  I  went  back  for  half  a  mile  to  find  the 
compass  I  dropped — in  the  morning." 

44  Yes,  I  remember.    What  did  you  pick  up?  " 

44  Sprig  belongin'  to  a  boot.  Now,  that's  nothin' 
much — but  Anderson's  boots  have  all  the  sprigs  on, 


138  GUINEA  GOLD 

and  so  have  yours — I  looked  at  your  tracks.  I  lost 
one,  but  it  was  a  week  ago." 

"  Did  the  boys  pick  it  up  at  the  time?  " 

"  Maybe — and  maybe  not." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  think?  " 

"  Don't  know  what  I  think — don't  know  that  I 
think  anythin' — a  fellow  had  better  not  think,  out 
in  the  bush.  .  .  .  What  the  mischief  are  the  boys 
raisin'  such  a  hullabaloo  about?  " 

The  column  had  started  on  again  while  Dence  and 
Scott  talked,  and  was  crawling,  like  a  snake,  a  bit 
at  a  time,  over  the  crest  of  the  ridge.  Those  who 
were  up  had  raised  a  cry  of  delight. 

"  Coo-ee!  "  yelled  Dence  to  Anderson. 

"  The  Iri !  "  called  Anderson  in  reply. 

"  That's  as  good  as  a  bottle  of  beer  apiece !  "  said 
Dence,  suddenly  galvanised  into  speed.  The  two 
fairly  raced  up  the  ridge,  and  arrived  at  the  top 
together,  panting  and  steaming,  eager  to  see  the  river 
that  was  to  lead  them  to  their  goal. 

After  all,  they  could  see  nothing,  for  the  forest 
was  deep  and  unbroken,  but  they  could  all  hear  the 
voice  of  an  unmistakably  big  river,  rumbling  away 
far  below.  Anderson  was  standing  on  the  spine  of 
the  ridge,  his  leathery  face  showing  something  like 
human  satisfaction  for  once. 

"  She  takes  a  turn  to  the  west — just  as  I  guessed 
she  would,"  he  said.  u  This  saves  us  days.  We'll 
camp  on  the  bank  to-night,  and  begin  going  up  the 
river  to-morrow." 


GUINEA  GOLD  139 

"  How  are  we  to  find  Alligator  Creek?  M  asked 
Scott.     "  Where  the  box  was,  you  know." 

"  If  Alligator  Creek  isn't  the  creek  that  drains  out 
of  that  swamp  into  the  Iri,  you  may  call  me  a 
Chinaman,"  averred  Anderson.  "  Boys,  we're  get- 
ting on !  " 

That  night  in  the  camp  by  the  side  of  the  great 
dark  river  they  had  sought  so  long,  many  a  Spanish 
castle  was  built,  many  a  story  told  of  wonderful 
finds,  in  the  Magnet,  in  the  Klondyke,  in  sun-dried 
Mexican  river-beds,  in  monkey-haunted  kloofs  of 
inner  Africa.  They  were  all  a  little  excited,  and 
sleep  was  long  in  coming  to  the  white  men's  tent. 
As  for  the  song  of  the  Orokiva,  it  was  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  days  that  followed  were  among  the  pleasant- 
est  of  the  trip. 

In  the  first  place,  they  had  a  rest.  Anderson  did 
not  want  to  forego  the  chance  of  re-provisioning 
offered  by  the  sago  swamp :  so  camp  was  pitched  on 
the  bank  of  the  Iri,  and  there  three  whites  took  it  in 
turns  to  escort  the  boys  back  to  the  edge  of  the 
swamp  every  day,  and  oversee  them  while  they  cut 
down  palms,  chopped  out  the  inside  pith,  washed  it 
in  troughs  made  of  hollowed  trunks,  and  collected 
the  starchy  matter  that  drained  off.  The  floury, 
crumbly  mass  that  resulted  was  not  in  the  least  like 
any  sago  ever  seen  in  shops,  but  it  was  nourishing  and 
palatable  food,  boiled  with  a  little  sugar,  and  whites 
and  natives  revelled  in  it,  after  the  inevitable  short 
commons  of  the  march. 

While  the  boys  were  busy  making  sago,  and  put- 
ting it  up  in  mats  of  roughly  plaited  leaves,  the  white 
men  repaired  swags  and  flies,  mended  their  clothes, 
wished  they  had  anything  to  read,  and  talked  a  great 
deal.  Anderson  had  removed  the  embargo  on  dis- 
cussion, now  that  they  had  successfully  accomplished 
the  first  stage  of  their  search,  and  the  letter  (which 
everyone  knew  by  heart)  was  talked  over  and  over 
— especially  at  night,  when  the  three  were  together. 

140 


GUINEA  GOLD  141 

It  was  a  wonderfully  lovely  spot,  this  elbow  of 
the  Iri,  where  they  had  made  their  camp.  The  river, 
like  all  Papuan  streams  of  the  hinterland,  was  wild 
and  precipitous;  it  ran  boisterously  over  a  bed  full  of 
rocks,  and  dashed  foam  and  spray  upon  the  dangling 
ferns  and  lianas,  and  rare  flames  of  orchid  bloom, 
that  overhung  its  waters.  There  was  a  great  boom- 
ing waterfall  quite  close  to  the  camp,  with  tree- 
ferns  like  green  lace  parasols  hanging  over  it,  and 
scarlet  D'Alberti  flowers,  shaped  like  wistaria,  spot- 
ting the  cool  gloom  of  the  over-arching  forest  roof. 
Birds,  crested,  spangled,  aigretted,  orange,  crimson, 
gold  and  blue,  swooped  and  skimmed  above  the 
water-pools  in  the  downward-spreading  light  of 
dawn,  or  in  the  strange  green  sunset  glow — that 
"  Ragnarok,  Twilight  of  the  Gods,"  known  to  all 
Papuan  wanderers.  Butterflies,  strong  bird-winged 
creatures,  gold  and  velvet-black,  vermilion,  verdigris, 
and  sapphire,  struck  the  heart  with  their  beauty,  as 
they  sailed  like  living  flowers  across  the  river  of 
sun  that  cut  the  gloomy  forest,  above  the  river  of 
rock  and  water.  Dragon-flies,  red,  green,  and  yel- 
low: inch-long  flying  things  that  scintillated  in  the 
sun  like  some  new  jewel,  half-emerald,  half- 
turquoise;  how  lovely  they  were,  and  how  lovely  it 
all  was,  to  a  man  who  was  marching  no  longer,  and 
had  time  and  strength  to  note  the  wonder  and  the 
beauty  of  the  unknown  lands ! 

Scott  liked  it.  He  liked  the  colour  and  the  still- 
ness and  the  solitude,  and  yet  more  the  feeling,  new 


i42  GUINEA  GOLD 

and  wonderful  to  him,  of  being  in  country  where,  in 
all  probability,  no  white  man's  foot  had  passed — for 
they  could  not  tell  what  route  might  have  been  taken 
by  Cripps  and  his  mate.  To  look  at  the  great  fall 
of  the  Iri,  and  know  it  was  marked  on  no  map — that 
the  river  leaped  into  the  knowledge  and  mind  of  man 
just  here,  where  his  own  eyes  met  it;  beyond  that 
little  range  of  his  sight,  existed  not  at  all,  till  he 
should  find  it — this  was  a  sensation  of  keenest  pleas- 
ure. To  think  of  all  that  lay  somewhere  among  the 
branches  and  tributaries  of  that  stream,  of  the  for- 
tune that  the  wilderness  held  in  its  grip,  for  him  and 
his  mates  to  find,  was  an  intoxication.  Did  the  whole 
world  hold  a  better  way  of  making  fortunes  than 
this? 

The  ache  in  his  heart  was  wonderfully  soothed. 
Nothing  was  changed,  but  he  felt  as  men  do  feel  in 
the  far-out  places— that  everything  beyond  the  little 
circle  of  the  daily  task  was  very  dim  and  distant,  and 
that  sorrows  belonging  to  the  outer  world  were  al- 
most as  sorrows  belonging  to  someone  else — things 
that  pained  you  with  a  gentle,  impersonal  sort  of 
melancholy  alone.  .  .  .  He  began  to  understand  how 
it  was  that  the  real  men  of  the  wilderness,  these  min- 
ers and  their  mates,  who  had  lived  on  the  fringes  of 
the  Never-Never  half  their  lives,  seemed  so  curiously 
detached  from  all  human  affections  or  ties.  It  was 
hard  to  believe  that  the  men  he  had  met  on  Kikiramu 
had  mothers  or  brothers  or  relations  of  any  kind — 
that  they  had  ever  had  homes,  or  ever  taken  the 


GUINEA  GOLD  143 

morning  train  to  anywhere,  with  a  daily  paper  in 
hand,  or  ever  footed  it  in  the  merry  dances  of  the 
Australian  bush,  when  selectors'  daughters  and 
"  cockatoo  farmers "  and  stockmen  and  shearers 
made  the  earthen  floors  rise  up  in  dust  to  the  music 
of  accordion  and  violin !  Surely  they  had  lived  all 
their  lives  just  as  they  were  living  them  now — just  as 
he  was  living  his — in  the  dark  of  the  eternal  forests, 
hunting  down  and  gathering  the  little  yellow  specks, 
and  .  .  .  what  was  the  blank  verse  Dence  had 
quoted? 

"Lost  to  use  and  name,  and  life  and  fame  .  .  ." 

Not  lost,  of  course — that  was  nonsense.  Ab- 
sorbed, perhaps — as  he  was  absorbed.  Who  could 
think  of  Sydney  and  of  London,  of  Germany's  in- 
tentions towards  Morocco,  of  the  newest  way  to 
drop  bombs  out  of  aeroplanes  upon  an  enemy's 
head,  when  he  was  thinking  of,  and  looking  for — 
gold? 

u  '  .  .  .  The  tree  that  we  made  our  box  out  of, 
at  Alligator  Creek,'  "  quoted  Anderson,  one  morn- 
ing. Quotations  from  Cripps'  letter  were  as  com- 
mon in  the  talk  of  the  three,  these  days,  as  texts  in 
the  mouths  of  Cromwell's  Ironsides. 

"  *  That  we  made  our  box  out  of  .  .  .'"  He  had 
got  up  from  the  felled  log  they  used  for  a  seat  at 
meals,  and  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  river, 
looking  into  the  bush,  and  pulling  his  long  beard 
thoughtfully. 


144  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  That  means,"  he  said,  "  that  they  got  something 
on  Alligator  Creek.  It  wasn't  good,  or  they'd  have 
stayed  instead  of  going  farther  on.  But  we'll  have 
to  find  it,  I  reckon,  if  we  want  to  know  what  tree  to 
look  for  at  the  right  time." 

Dence,  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  his  after-break- 
fast smoke,  looked  up,  and  followed  Anderson's 
eyes. 

"  Behind  the  swamp,  of  course,"  he  said. 

"  Yes — a  goodish  bit,  I  should  think.  I  don't  be- 
lieve Cripps  came  through  just  here.  I've  been 
working  it  out,  and  I  reckon  he  struck  Alligator 
Creek  a  good  way  farther  up,  and  prospected  there — 
it  would  be  full  of  alligators  all  along,  I  suppose: 
some  creeks  are — and  by  and  by  moved  on  same  as 
you  and  I  would  do,  in  the  direction  of  the  Iri:  he'd 
strike  a  tributary  some  good  way  behind  this,  and 
probably  got — what  he  got — there." 

"  Why  not  on  the  Iri  itself?  "  asked  Scott. 

"  Too  big  and  too  deep,  here  or  anywhere  near. 
You  don't  get  gold — alluvial  gold — where  the  water 
would  carry  a  big  steamer." 

"  And  why  do  you  think  he  didn't  follow  the  Iri 
up  to  its  higher  waters?  " 

"  Wasn't  long  enough  out,  from  all  I  could 
gather.  Take  it  from  me,  the  gold's  within  two  or 
three  days  of  here — one  way  or  another.  We'll 
prospect  Alligator  Creek  to-day,  to  try  and  find  the 
first  working  and  the  box." 

"Shall  I  get  the  boys  together?" 


GUINEA  GOLD  145 

"  You  might.  I  want  to  look  about  a  little  at  the 
mouth  of  the  creek  and  see  what  size  it  is,  before  we 
start." 

"  Thirty-two  boys,  isn't  it?  " 

"  No,  thirty-one.  What's  the  matter  with  you, 
Scott,  that  you  can't  remember  the  number  of  boys, 
after  all  this  time?  " 

"  Well,  the  counting  hasn't  been  my  job,  because 
I  didn't  have  them  in  the  afternoons — but  I  cer- 
tainly thought  it  was  thirty-one." 

"  What  did  you  say  thirty-two  for,  then?  " 

"  Because  yesterday,  when  I  went  home  in  the 
middle  of  the  day,  I  did  happen  to  count  them  before 
I  left,  and  there  were  thirty-two." 

11  You  counted  wrong." 

"  I  did  not.  There  were  thirty-two.  I  counted 
three  times." 

"  All  our  own  boys — no  stray  natives  from  round 
about?" 

"  They'd  all  got  red  ramies  on,  and  were  making 
sago  together." 

"  You  must  have  been  mistaken." 

"  I  was  not,"  repeated  Scott,  getting  hot.  "  I  saw 
them,  and  counted  them." 

"  You  take  ten  grains  of  quinine,  and  don't  keep 
out  in  the  sun  without  your  hat:  I've  no  time  for  peo- 
ple getting  sick,"  was  Anderson's  only  comment,  as 
he  walked  off  down  the  river. 

Scott  said  something  forcible,  and  Dence  laughed. 

"  Quit  laughin',  you !  "  ordered  the  Ulsterman, 


146  GUINEA  GOLD 

his  native  accent  coming  out  strong,  as  it  usually  did 
in  moments  of  irritation. 

Dence,  for  the  ten  thousandth  time  in  his  life, 
quoted  under  his  breath:  "Ifs  not  that  one  is  so 
clever  oneself:  its  only  that  other  people  are  so 
stupid.  .   .     "        \ 

"  I  wasn't  laughin'  at  you,"  he  said.  "  Only  at 
Anderson.  For  a  death-or-glory  kind  of  leader  to 
an  expedition,  there  isn't  his  match  in  Papua — but  I 
really  think  he  has  even  less  brains  than  you, 
Scott." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Scott,  sensing  an  obscure  com- 
pliment wrapped  up  somewhere  or  other.  He  could 
not  always  understand  Dence,  especially  when  the 
Englishman  smiled  with  sleepy  blue  eyes,  and  spoke 
in  the  low,  velvet  voice  that  was  so  peculiarly  his 
own.  Dence  had  the  power  of  creating  odd  illusions 
about  himself.  To-day,  standing  beside  the  stained 
arid  sagging  tent  that  was  all  their  home,  his  roughly 
booted  feet  set  in  river  mud,  his  ragged  shirt  scarce 
holding  to  his  sun-blackened  shoulders,  he  contrived, 
somehow,  with  his  voice  and  his  eyes  and  his  manner, 
to  suggest  a  dim  ghost  of  evening  dress.  .  .  .  Just 
so  men  spoke  and  looked  who  wore  costly  raiment 
of  finest  black  and  white,  who  stood  in  stained  and 
mullioned  window  embrasures  lit  with  the  late-setting 
English  sun,  and  looked  down  upon  terrace  and  ter- 
race, lawn  and  lawn,  statue  and  stone  balustrade  and 
sunk  Italian  garden — all  the  pomp  and  the  beauty  of 
the  life  that  Scott  had  just  glimpsed  at  as  a  boy,  that 


GUINEA  GOLD  147 

"  Dence,"  who  was  not  Dence,  had  lived  and  known 
— how  long? 

Some  transfer  of  thought,  touching  the  sensitive 
Celtic  brain,  made  Scott  point  derisively  to  the  tent 
and  the  log  table  and  begin  to  repeat: 

"The  stately  homes  of  England,  how  beautiful  they  stand! 
Amid  the  tall  ancestral  trees  ..." 

The  explosion  that  followed  struck  him  dumb. 

M  Lord !  where  did  you  learn  to  swear  like  that?  " 
he  said,  when  he  had  recovered  his  breath.  "  And,  if 
I  may  ask,  why?  ..." 

11  You  may  ask  nothing,"  said  the  other,  with  flam- 
ing eyes.  "  That  poem — that  poem !  "  He  nearly 
choked. 

"  I  won't  quote  it  again,  if  that's  what  you  mean," 
said  Scott,  still  puzzled.  For  only  the  Englishman 
or  the  Irishman,  torn  in  two  by  half-caste  Celt  and 
Saxon  blood,  can  know  how  those  formal  schoolroom 
lines  of  Campbell's  stab,  with  a  poisoned  blade  for 
every  letter,  the  man  who  may  see  the  "  stately 
homes  of  England  "  never  more. 

Dence  recovered  himself  instantly,  and  answered 
Scott's  first  question  with  as  much  ease  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred. 

11  Why,  a  man  can  scarcely  spend  all  these  years 
in  Papuan  mining  camps  without  picking  up  a  swear 
or  two,"  he  said. 

"  You  don't  swear  like  a  miner,"  commented 
Scott.    "  You  swear  like  a — like  a — cavalry  officer." 


i48  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  Do  I?  "  asked  Dence  mockingly.  "  You  show 
an  occasional  gleam  of  intellect,  certainly.  Try 
turnin'  it  on  to  the  reason  why  you  couldn't  count 
the  boys,  and  see  what  you  get." 

"  Don't  get  anything,"  said  Scott.  "  I  can  only 
say  what  happened — or  what  I  thought  hap- 
pened." 

"  Well,  I'd  advise  you  to  stop  talkin',  then,  and 
help  me  muster  the  boys." 

They  mustered  the  carriers:  Anderson  returned: 
the  start  was  made. 

"  How  many  boys  are  there?  "  the  leader  jerked 
over  his  shoulder. 

"  Thirty-one,"  said  Scott. 

Anderson  laughed. 

"  I'll  remind  you  of  the  quinine  when  we  camp 
to-night,"  he  said. 

But  when  it  came  to  night,  nobody  was  thinking  of 
anything  so  commonplace  as  quinine.  For  the  march 
had  been  an  unusually  light  one,  and  they  had  gone 
quite  a  long  way  up  Alligator  Creek,  leaving  the 
deadly  swamp  miles  behind,  and,  close  to  sunset, 
there  had  been  a  yell  from  one  of  the  boys  (who 
all  knew  by  this  time  what  their  "  Taubadas  "  were 
looking  for),  "  Bokis,  bokis!  " 

The  native  eyes,  trained  to  the  bush,  had  beaten 
the  white  man's  sight.  Yassi,  a  fur-headed  small 
person  clad  in  a  red  rag  and  a  necklace  of  dog's 
teeth,  had  spied  a  hollow  log  lying  jammed  in  a  cleft 


GUINEA  GOLD  149 

between  two  stones — a  log  that  had  evidently  been 
shaped  by  steel  tools — and  was  giving  tongue  to  his 
discovery. 

The  three  men  precipitated  themselves  on  the 
worn  and  weathered  fragment  of  wood.  It  was  a 
piece  in  the  puzzle — a  thread  of  the  clue.  .  .  .  From 
what  tree  had  the  "  box  "  been  cut? 

Cedar,  evidently.  Now  cedars  were  not  very 
common  in  the  valley  of  the  Iri:  no  one  could 
remember  having  sighted  more  than  one  or  two. 
It  would  not  be  difficult  to  locate  the  cedar  that 
marked  Cripps'  discovery — if  they  could  find  the 
creek. 

"  Yassi,  you  and  Kobo  come  here/'  said  Anderson. 
Yassi  and  Kobo  were  the  two  boys  formerly  em- 
ployed by  Cripps,  that  Anderson  had  managed  to  find 
and  engage.  Heretofore  they  had  been  of  no  use  in 
finding  the  way,  for  an  East  End  Papuan,  taken 
away  from  his  own  district,  cannot  remember  a 
monotonous  route  through  unbroken  forest  with  any 
more  success  than  might  be  expected  from  a  "  new 
chum  "  white.  But  now  it  was  possible  the  two 
might  be  of  service. 

"  How  long  you  stop  work  along  here,  one  time 
you  come  along  Kippi  (Cripps)?"  asked  Ander- 
son. 

A  week  or  two,  it  seemed;  after  that,  they  had 
gone  through  the  bush  a  long  way,  Yassi  and  Kobo 
could  not  say  where.  And  by  and  by  they  had  very 
little  kai-kai  left,  so  Kisi,  the  other  white  man,  had 


150  GUINEA  GOLD 

gone  back  to  the  Kikiramu,  and  a  great  many  of  the 
boys  had  gone  too.  But  Yassi  and  Kobo  had  been 
kept,  and  some  more,  and  they  had  gone  with  Kippi, 
and  Kippi  had  found  gold,  but  Yassi  and  Kobo  did 
not  know  where,  because  the  boys  were  not  told  to 
work  it — Kippi  made  them  stay  in  camp,  and  he 
worked  it  himself.  And  they  liked  that  very  much, 
because  there  was  kai-kai  enough  since  the  other  boys 
were  gone,  and  they  sit-lie-down  and  smoke  all  day. 
But  by  and  by  some  bad  fellow  shoot  Kippi,  and  he 
get  sick,  and  he  die,  and  all  the  boys  plenty  frighten, 
and  they  go  back  to  the  Kikiramu  very  quick.  And 
they,  Yassi  and  Kobo,  had  had  nothing  to  do  with 
killing  the  white  man :  they  wanted  the  Taubadas  to 
know  that,  for  they  were  frightened  when  someone 
talked  of  Kippi;  they  feared  the  white  men  at  the 
Kikiramu  would  be  angry,  but  there  was  nothing  bad 
they  had  done. 

So  much  from  Yassi  and  Kobo,  their  pidgin-Eng- 
lish being  translated.  It  was  clear  that  they  knew 
nothing  of  Cripps'  great  discovery,  and  clear,  too, 
that  they  had  been  very  shy  of  mentioning  him  at  all, 
lest  they  should  be  implicatedinhismurder.  Whether 
they  deserved  to  be  or  not,  Anderson  considered  an 
open  question.  One  never  knew  with  natives,  he 
said,  and  doubtless  the  boys  had  been  anxious  to  get 
home  again.  The  Karivas  might  have  done  the  job, 
or  Yassi  himself — impossible  to  say,  and  it  didn't 
matter  now. 

The  search  went  on. 


GUINEA  GOLD  151 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  the  pleasure  of  the  hunt 
took  hold  upon  these  three.  Before,  it  had  been 
merely  a  matter  of  travel,  of  a  long  fight  against  the 
daily,  hourly,  momently  difficulties  of  the  way :  of  a 
set  task  to  be  got  through  between  every  dawn  and 
dusk,  with  sleep,  delicious  sleep,  as  payment  at  the 
end.  There  was  nothing  exciting  in  the  adventures 
of  the  way:  even  Scott,  new  to  the  bush,  felt  this. 
The  peril  of  the  flooded  gorge — the  attack  in  the 
dark  forest — the  night  among  roaring  alligators — 
these  things  stirred  scarce  a  pulse  of  fear  at  the  time, 
scarce  a  throb  of  interested  recollection  after  they 
were  over.  Take  a  man  into  a  powder  factory  once : 
he  will  go  with  strung-up  courage  and  beating  heart 
and  talk  of  the  adventure  long  after.  Set  him  to 
work  there  eight  hours  a  day,  and  in  a  week  you 
will  find  him  handling  high  explosives  like  so  much 
corn  out  of  a  bin.   .    .    . 

So,  in  the  pioneer  lands,  do  men  learn  to  confront 
danger  and  hardship,  not  with  the  excited  pluck  of 
over-civilised  man,  but  with  the  cold  emotionless 
courage  that  grows  only  in  the  soil  of  constant  risk 
and  death.  They  are  wrong  who  call  this  bravery  the 
pluck  of  the  savage.  No  primitive  race  ever  knew 
it.  True,  it  is  the  strength  of  Antaeus,  regained  from 
the  ancient  earth  that  bore  him — but  Antaeus  came 
back  to  the  earth  for  the  strengthening  embrace,  first 
having  left  it  far  and  long.  Who  never  leaves  it, 
who  never  comes  back,  knows  not  this  strength. 

Thus  it  was  into  the  midst  of  something  like  monot- 


152  GUINEA  GOLD 

ony  and  boredom  that  the  first  scent  of  the  hidden 
gold  arose,  like  a  breeze  into  a  stifling  forest  track. 
In  a  morning  all  was  changed.  They  left  the  upper 
waters  of  Alligator  Creek  and  started  to  prospect 
the  tributary  streams  leading  into  the  great  sweep  of 
the  Iri,  with  interest  and  excitement  vividly  re- 
newed. For  men  may  readily  learn  to  look  upon 
the  face  of  death  with  indifference,  but  never  upon 
the  gleam  of  gold. 

It  is  over  now,  years  over,  and  they  who  took  part 
in  the  chase,  and  in  the  strange  happenings  that  fol- 
lowed and  attended  it,  are,  some  of  them,  dead,  some 
of  them  mewed  in  cities,  some  of  them  ...  I  know 
not,  nor  does  anyone  know.  It  came  and  passed, 
one  flying  picture  in  the  long  cinematograph  of  time. 
Scott  remembers  it  to-day,  but  he  cannot  tell  you 
much  of  the  time  they  spent  in  searching  for  the 
wonderful  reef,  because  a  man  may  recall  a  time  of 
incident,  happening  by  happening,  but  he  cannot  re- 
member very  clearly  a  time  when  sensations  were 
events,  and  incidents  took  but  second  place.  And  in 
those  days  hope  and  fear,  despair,  delight,  wonder, 
disappointment,  speculation,  seemed,  in  after  recol- 
lection, to  have  sponged  out  the  landscape  and  the 
marches,  and  the  little  happenings  of  every  day,  as 
the  wreathing  mists  of  afternoon  blot  out  the  green 
hills  and  blue  ranges  and  serried  forest  crests  of  the 
Papuan  mountain  lands. 

One  day  after  another  day  they  tramped  up  river- 
beds, crossing  the  stream  thirty  and  forty  times  be- 


GUINEA  GOLD  153 

tween  sunrise  and  sunset,  cutting  their  way  along  the 
banks,  climbing  the  walls  of  gorges,  circling  behind 
waterfalls,  and  all  the  time  looking  out  for  what  they 
knew  would  be  the  sign  of  success  in  their  long,  long 
quest — the  island  in  the  midst  of  the  water,  with  a 
great  hollow  tree  upon  it.  Yassi  and  Kobo,  at  first 
relied  on,  proved  afterwards  to  be  of  no  use  at  all, 
for  they  were  perfectly  certain  that  each  and  every 
tributary  of  the  Iri  was  the  very  one  that  Cripps  had 
been  prospecting  when  he  found  his  gold.  It  seemed 
evident  that  he  had  been  up  at  least  five  or  six  rivers, 
and  that  the  boys  had  got  hopelessly  mixed  in  con- 
sequence. After  a  day  or  two,  Anderson  paid  no 
attention  to  them,  but  made  his  own  observations, 
and  led  the  party  as  seemed  best  to  himself. 

Over  and  over  again  they  would  see  something 
that  looked  like  the  island  and  the  tree,  and  the  man 
who  saw  it  would  call  out,  with  dry  throat,  and  the 
others  would  scramble  hurriedly  to  his  point  of  sight 
and  look.  But  always  it  turned  out  to  be  an  island 
with  an  ordinary  tree  on  it,  or  a  peninsula  that  looked 
like  an  island,  or  a  sandbank  that  had  caught  a 
drifting  snag,  and  held  it  aloft,  wreathed  with  green 
lianas,  to  deceive  the  eager  eyes  of  the  wanderers. 
And  after  every  one  of  these  false  alarms  their 
hearts  would  sink,  and  they  would  say  hopeful  things 
to  encourage  each  other,  every  man  feeling  hopeless 
himself. 

The  spectre  of  famine,  that  creeps  close  at  the 
heels  of  every  Papuan  exploring  party,  now  began 


154  GUINEA  GOLD 

to  dog  their  track.  Flour  was  running  low,  meat  was 
opened  only  every  second  day,  and,  worst  of  all,  the 
tea  was  done.  They  had  tobacco,  but  it  was  neces- 
sary to  husband  that,  for  tobacco  is  the  coin  of  the 
Hinterland,  and  they  hoped  constantly  to  find  some 
native  village  where-  they  might  purchase  a  little 
food.  But  it  was  becoming  clear  that  the  upper 
waters  of  the  Iri  were  uninhabited,  save  for  wan- 
dering predatory  tribes  like  the  Kariva.  A  beauti- 
ful, luxuriant,  yet  an  utterly  hungry  land  was  this 
that  they  were  travelling  through. 

Anderson  began  to  press  his  party.  The  pace  of 
the  weakest  member  was  necessarily  the  pace  for 
all,  but  he  had  chosen  his  boys  well,  and  they  trav- 
elled under  their  lightened  loads  fast  enough  to 
give  the  half-seasoned  Briton  as  much  as  he  cared 
for,  during  the  burning  hours  of  climbing  and  splash- 
ing and  scrambling  up  the  endless  tributaries  of  the 
Iri.  Looking  for  a  needle  in  a  hayfield  seemed 
to  Scott  a  simple  task  compared  with  the  chase  they 
had  undertaken  in  this  primeval  wilderness;  but  An- 
derson seemed  to  know  what  he  was  about,  and 
had  reasons  for  going  up  this  river,  and  abandoning 
the  other,  that  gave  the  hunt  some  air  of  purpose 
and  direction. 

It  was  a  race  now — a  race  with  hunger  and  the 
powers  of  the  wilderness.  They  must  find  the  gold 
before  the  last  loads  were  broken  into,  the  last  tins 
opened.  Enough  must  be  left  to  take  the  white  men 
back  to  the  Kikiramu:  as  for  the  boys,  they  couldT 


GUINEA  GOLD  155 

at  a  pinch,  manage  well  enough  on  a  few  loads  of 
native  sago,  gathered  from  the  swamp  on  the  way 
back. 

The  short  allowance  of  food,  the  want  of  tea,  and 
the  small  supply  of  tobacco,  were  felt  by  all  the  party, 
but  no  one  complained.  It  was  in  the  nature  of  things 
that  one  should  suffer  depression,  weariness,  unsatis- 
fied cravings  for  many  things  on  a  prospecting  or 
exploring  trip.  One  gambled  with  one's  power  of 
enduring  these  pains  against  the  hostile  forces  of 
Nature.  Sometimes  Nature  won,  sometimes  man. 
It  was  the  way  of  the  explorer  in  Papua.  These 
explorers  did  not  mean  to  be  beaten  in  the  game. 

"  How  far  are  we  from  the  sago  swamp?  "  asked 
Scott  one  weary  evening  when  they  were  all  lying  on 
the  platform  of  the  fly,  too  tired  to  sit  up,  enjoying 
their  tiny  allowance  of  trade  tobacco  before  going  to 
sleep.  It  was  very  dark  at  the  bottom  of  the  forest 
sea :  one  could  not  tell  whether  there  was  a  moon  or 
not.  The  crowding  tree-trunks  dripped  slow  moist- 
ure from  leaf  and  bole:  the  air  smelt  rank  with 
decay. 

You  could  see  strange  blossoms  of  flame  in  the 
darkness,  where  lily-shaped  fungi  grew  on  the  fallen 
logs;  and  fire-flies,  soaring  and  hovering,  made  green 
spangles  against  the  black  of  the  woven  boughs. 

"  Not  more  than  eight  or  nine  miles,  in  a  direct 
line,"  was  Anderson's  reply.  "  We've  been  making 
a  track  like  a  spider's  web.  That  swamp's  a  nui- 
sance,  anyhow — it's  in  the  direct  road  to  the  Ki- 


156  GUINEA  GOLD 

kiramu,  and  if  we  get  gold  about  here  it'll  make  no 
end  of  trouble  for  the  carriers  going  to  the  field." 

"  First  catch  your  hare,"  quoted  Dence. 

"  We'll  catch  it  all  right,"  affirmed  the  leader,  with 
his  pipe  stuck  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  There  was 
something  in  his  tone  that  gave  the  others  confidence. 
They  slept  well  that  night. 

Three  ragged  men,  waving  their  arms  and  yelling, 
stood  on  the  top  of  a  peaked  and  battlemented  preci- 
pice, against  a  sky  of  thunderous  black.  They  would 
have  been  dancing,  only  for  the  fact  that  an  ill- 
considered  step  might  have  danced  them  into  eter- 
nity. They  had  to  hold  by  trees  in  order  to  wave 
their  hats  and  arms.  They  held  on,  and  waved,  and 
shouted,  red  in  the  face  and  sparkling-eyed.  And 
the  carriers,  strung  out  along  the  crest  of  the  preci- 
pice for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  behind,  took  up  the  cry 
and  yelled  in  their  turn,  though  they  did  not  know 
what  it  was  all  about.  But  they  had  a  shrewd  idea 
that  this  yelling  meant  a  halt  and  a  rest  by  and  by, 
and  that  was  heaven  to  them. 

Below  the  explorers  a  new  reach  of  the  river 
opened  out.  The  stream  they  were  following  was 
one  of  the  many  unknown  tributaries  of  the  un- 
mapped river  Iri.  Here  the  tributary  widened, 
spreading  out  from  the  narrow  gorge  they  had  been 
following  all  the  morning  into  an  open  shallow 
reach  bordered  by  bush-covered  slopes.  The  differ- 
ent greens  of  tree-fern  and  bush  and  vine,  of  palm 


GUINEA  GOLD  157 

and  banyan  and  huge  New  Guinea  rubber  trees, 
stood  out  in  incredible  brilliance  against  the  thunder- 
clouds behind.  In  the  steely  mirror  of  the  open 
reach  one  plumy  bouquet  of  glowing  emerald  rose 
up  alone  ...  an  islet,  with  a  streak  of  shadowy 
black  across  its  heart. 

"  The  island,  the  island — look  at  the  trees!" 
howled  Scott. 

''Hooray!"  cheered  Dence,  thumping  Scott  on 
the  back. 

"  We're  getting  warm,  boys — we'll  be  hot  by  and 
by!"  roared  Anderson,  shaking  the  thick  sweat- 
drops  off  his  arms  and  face.  They  all  spoke  as  if 
the  party  had  been  suddenly  smitten  with  deafness, 
and  there  was  not  an  inch  of  room  in  anyone's  mind 
for  amusement  at  Anderson's  incongruous  remark. 
The  excitement  of  the  hunt  filled  them  to  the  brim. 
Almost,  they  sighted  their  game — for  the  gold  had 
become  a  living  thing  to  them  now,  after  these  weeks 
of  famished  chase.  They  felt  that  they  were  going 
to  get  something  by  the  neck,  and  worry  it — soon! 

After  the  moment  of  ecstasy  came  plain  prose  for 
a  while.  The  party  had  to  be  got  down  to  the  river, 
and  that  took  time,  as  the  precipice  was  almost  bare 
of  hand-  or  foot-hold,  and  bush  ropes  of  liana  had 
to  be  used.  Then  they  were  down  on  a  muddy  bank, 
and  stumbling  through  the  ooze  towards  the  open 
space  of  steely-grey  water.  And  then,  regardless  of 
possible  alligators,  they  were  all  into  the  lagoon, 
down  over  their  knees,  splashing  and  stamping  to- 


158  GUINEA  GOLD 

wards  the  islet.  The  carriers  stayed  on  the  shore, 
squatting  on  their  haunches,  with  their  loads  laid 
down,  and  watching  the  white  men  with  dark,  ex- 
pressionless eyes.    They  were  not  in  the  least  curious. 

It  was  a  small  islet,  but  it  stood  high,  and  sup- 
ported quite  a  number  of  trees,  palms  of  different 
kinds  for  the  most  part,  with  trunks  scaled  and 
diamonded  like  snakes,  or  lifting  slim  white  stems 
far  into  the  sky,  or  standing  up  on  the  quaintest  of 
tall  wooden  stilts.  But  one  tree,  a  massive  cotton- 
wood,  had  a  solid  trunk  like  an  oak,  and  that  trunk 
was  split  by  lightning  from  root  to  crown,  leaving 
a  wide  dark  hollow,  deepened  by  time  and  weather 
into  a  chamber  that  would  easily  have  sheltered  two 
or  three  men.  Beyond  all  doubt  it  was  Cripps'  tree 
— the  tree  of  the  great  python.  From  this  point, 
then,  might  be  unwound  the  clue  that  led  to  riches — 
to  the  opening  of  all  the  doors  of  all  the  delights  in 
all  the  world.   .    .    . 

It  was  midday  now,  but  no  one  thought  of  lunch 
or  rest.  To  unwind  another  turn  of  the  clue,  here, 
at  once,  was  all  that  anyone  desired.     What  next? 

"  '  A  large  boulder  in  the  stream,  showin'  about 
three  feet  above  water/  "  quoted  Dence.  "  There  it 
is,  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  Anderson's  face.  '  When 
the  river  is  very  low  a  granite  boulder  is  exposed 
for  about  eight  inches  ' — well,  the  river  is  low,  but 
not  very,  judgin'  by  the  bank.  Should  think  the 
granite  boulder  must  be  awash  or  underneath." 

"  It's  bound  to  be  upstream,  anyhow,"  said  An- 


GUINEA  GOLD  159 

derson.  "  He  was  going  up  the  river,  and  would 
naturally  take  his  bearings  the  way  he  faced  when 
going  after  the  reef  himself." 

"  What  had  we  better  do?  "  asked  Scott,  chafing 
at  the  little  delay. 

Anderson  called  up  the  boys,  and  set  them  to  wade 
about  in  the  river,  feeling  with  their  bare  feet  for 
submerged  boulders.  A  curb  of  granite  rewarded 
the  search  before  long,  just  under  water. 

"  Put  a  stone  on  it,"  ordered  Anderson.  "  Now 
we  can  see  our  way.  We  have  to  get  those  two 
stones  in  line,  and  go  west  up  the  sidling." 

"What's  a  sidling?"  asked  Scott. 

"  A  ridge.  That  in  front  of  us.  If  we  go  west, 
according  to  my  compass,  we'll  strike  gradually  into 
the  bush." 

"  Till  we  come  to  '  the  sort  of  tree  they  made  their 
box  out  of,'  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes.  It's  a  good  scheme,  but  I  reckon  I  could 
have  bettered  it." 

11  Lucky  for  us  Cripps  slipped  up  a  bit." 

"  He  didn't,  much.  It  was  the  chance  of  finding 
the  python  skin,  and  the  luck  of  getting  the  original 
box,  that  helped  us.  Leave  out  chance,  and  we'd  not 
have  been  here.  Nelson  said  you  must  always  leave 
something  to  chance,  and  it's  a  true  saying — miners 
could  tell  you  that." 

They  were  edging  into  the  bush  now,  led  by  the 
trembling  needle  of  Anderson's  compass.  The 
juicy,    rank-smelling  underwood  clung  round   their 


i6o  GUINEA  GOLD 

knees,  the  thorn-studded  vines  caught  at  clothes  and 
flesh.  The  two  carriers  who  had  been  chosen  to 
accompany  them  had  to  get  out  their  great  clearing 
knives  and  cut  the  way.  Farther  and  farther  from 
the  river  they  crept,  among  the  gnarled  and  but- 
tressed trunks  of  the  forest,  under  the  swinging  gar- 
landry  of  air-plant,  orchid,  and  bird's-nest  fern.  It 
was  damp  and  dark  here,  and  the  cheerful  talking 
of  the  river  began  to  die  away.  A  dozen  times  at 
least  they  saw  the  cedar  tree  in  fancy  before  it  came, 
but  at  last  Scott  sighted  it  plainly  enough  in  a  little 
clearing  that  it  had  made  for  itself  by  dint  of  starv- 
ing out  the  feebler  growths  that  struggled  beneath 
its  shade. 

Under  its  boughs  they  stopped  to  mop  their 
streaming  faces  and  arms  and  consult  the  compass 
again. 

"  '  Thirty  points  north  of  east,  two  hundred  and 
sixty  paces,'  "  quoted  Anderson.  "  We're  close  on 
it  now.  That  would  take  us  pretty  near  back  into 
the  river  again.  Boys,  we  can't  miss  it — that  gold's 
somewhere  within  three  hundred  yards  of  where 
we're  standing  at  this  minute,  unless  Cripps  was 
mad — and  I  don't  think  he  was,  though  most  of  us 
are,  more  or  less." 

He  set  the  course  by  the  compass  again,  and  they 
headed  away  at  a  slant  from  their  former  track, 
counting  paces  as  they  went  in  tones  that  gradually 
rose  from  a  whisper  to  a  shout.  They  smashed 
through  vines,  they  tore  away  their  bleeding  arms 


GUINEA  GOLD  161 

and  hands  from  the  myriad  thorns  of  the  bush,  they 
flung  themselves  over  logs,  and  took  gullies  at  a 
flying  leap.  Behind  them  the  carriers  toiled,  assur- 
ing each  other  that  their  masters  had  certainly  been 
bitten  by  ghosts  in  the  night,  or  had  eaten  roots  be- 
witched by  some  mighty  sorcerer. 

"  It  is  very  good  to  lie  under  the  roof  of  your 
house  when  the  sun  is  high  up,  and  chew  betel-nut  all 
day  long,"  panted  Yassi,  in  the  Orokiva  tongue,  pull- 
ing his  black  shins  out  of  a  tangle  of  many-hooked 
"  lawyer." 

"  Yes,  we  were  mad  to  come  with  the  white  men 
again — what  is  a  little  trade  stuff?  "  lamented  Kobo. 
"  Work  was  meant  for  women,  not  for  men.  Ow- 
wow,  I  wish  I  were  back  in  my  yam-garden,  stirring 
up  my  wives  with  a  stick  when  they  do  not  dig  quick 
enough ! 

14  But  I  will  make  them  work  when  I  get  back — 
I  will  make  them  work !  "  he  added  thoughtfully. 

"  Listen  to  that!  The  Taubadas  are  going  mad- 
der than  ever,"  commented  Yassi,  as  a  yell  broke 
out  ahead,  followed  by  a  sudden  smashing  and 
crashing  through  the  low  bushes. 

"  If  they  go  altogether  mad,  we  will  hit  them  on 
the  head  with  stone  clubs  when  they  are  not  looking, 
and  then  we  will  eat  them,  and  then  we  will  go  back 
to  the  coast  with  all  the  goods,  and  tell  the  other 
white  men  they  were  killed  by  the  Kariva.  And  then 
we  will  go  home,  and  we  shall  be  great  men  in  our 
villages." 


162  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  Great  men!"  chanted  the  other  Orokiva  ex- 
citedly. 

But  at  this  point  Scott  and  Dence  came  crashing 
back  through  the  undergrowth,  faces  and  eyes  on 
fire. 

11  Go  back!  "  they  said,  using  the  pidgin-English 
which  is  the  lingua  franca  of  Papua.  "  Altogether 
you  fellow  go  back.  No  more  you  come  up  along  us. 
You  go  along  river  where  big  tree  stop ;  you  go  out 
island;  you  makem  camp  there." 

"  Scoot!  "  added  Dence,  in  a  tone  that  sent  the 
carriers  flying. 

M  The  Taubadas  are  certainly  mad,"  babbled 
Yassi,  as  they  ran  through  the  underbrush,  not  dar- 
ing to  look  back. 

"  If  one  of  you  leaves  the  island,  we'll  shoot 
him!  "  came  the  voice  of  Scott,  retreating  in  the  dis- 
tance. Silence  fell  on  the  forest,  save  for  the  scurry- 
ing noise  of  the  carriers  hurrying  down  to  the  river. 
They  splashed  through  the  shallows,  reached  the 
island,  and  flung  themselves  down  in  the  shade.  Not 
two  o'clock,  and  halted  for  the  day!  Surely  some- 
body's pet  sorcerer  was  working  well  for  him,  far 
away  in  the  delightful  coast  villages  where  pigs  and 
cocoanuts  flourished,  and  where  a  man  might  live  a 
man's  life,  smoking  and  chewing  idly  under  his 
pandanus  thatch.  ... 

Out  in  the  forest,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  Dence 
was  hugging  Anderson  round  his  brawny  neck,  and 


GUINEA  GOLD  163 

swaying  to  and  fro,  while  Scott  sat  on  the  ground  and 
cried.  The  nervous  temperament  had  got  its  own 
with  him  at  last.  But  nothing  any  one  of  the  three 
could  have  done  at  that  moment  would  have  aston- 
ished the  others.  They  were  past  astonishment,  past 
feeling  of  any  kind  save  one.  Had  the  woman  who 
spoiled  Anderson's  life  years  before  (you  never 
heard  of  her,  and  never  will),  had  the  girl  with  the 
honey-brown  eyes,  who  was  loved  by  Dence  and  by 
Scott,  to  the  sorrow  of  both,  stepped  suddenly  into 
that  theatrical-looking  glade,  among  the  palms  and 
fern  trees,  hands  outstretched  and  lips  smiling  for 
a  kiss,  it  is  long  odds  that  not  one  of  the  men  would 
have  taken  any  particular  notice  of  her.  Had  the 
brooding  thunderstorm  above  them  broken  in  a  roar 
and  a  flash  that  shook  the  earth  they  stood  on,  and 
split  the  trees  that  were  their  shelter,  nor  Dence, 
nor  Scott,  nor  Anderson  would  have  moved  an  inch 
from  where  he  stood.    They  had  found  the  gold. 

Running  for  thirty  or  forty  feet  through  the 
scanty  underbrush — here  poor  and  feeble,  because 
of  the  rocky  soil — was  a  little  rugged  wall  of  some- 
thing whitish — a  hard,  milky  stone,  stained  here  and 
there  with  dull  red.  It  came  up  out  of  the  ground 
edgeways,  with  a  sharp  cant  to  one  side;  rough  grey 
granite  overhung  it,  and  bluish  diorite  underlay  it, 
making  it  into  a  sort  of  mineral  sandwich.  The 
meat  of  the  sandwich — the  whitish  quartz — was  set 
thick  with  streaks  and  lumps  of  gold,  ounces  and 
pounds  of  it  full  in  sight.    Pieces  that  had  broken  off 


1 64  GUINEA  GOLD 

the  reef  lay  half  buried  in  trailing  green,  showing 
gold  in  their  fractures  and  edges.  One,  near  as 
big  as  a  bucket,  was  studded  all  over  with  yellow 
lumps,  as  a  school-feast  pudding  is  studded  with 
blocks  of  suet. 

"  My  God  in  heaven!  look  at  that!  "  exclaimed 
Anderson,  breaking  loose  from  the  polar-bear  hug  of 
Dence  to  put  his  hands  about  the  lump  and  heave 
it  from  the  ground.  "  There's  three  hundred  ounces 
in  it  if  there's  a  single  weight." 

"Gold!"  sobbed  Scott,  with  heaving  chest. 
"  Gold !  "  He  got  up,  the  tears  running  unshamedly 
down  his  cheeks,  and  began  picking  at  the  reef  with 
his  nails.  Dence  was  patting  and  petting  it  as  if  it 
had  been  a  favourite  horse,  swearing  strange  cavalry 
oaths  as  he  did  so.  In  a  minute  he  straightened  him- 
self up  and  turned  to  Anderson,  who  had  just  let 
go  his  gold-studded  boulder.  By  a  simultaneous  im- 
pulse, all  three  men  seized  each  other's  hands,  and 
began  swaying  about  together,  shaking  and  gripping 
one  another's  dirty  fingers,  and  uttering  half-articu- 
late cries  of  delight. 

"  Three  cheers !  "  cried  Dence  at  last.  They  gave 
them,  and  three  more  to  follow,  and  three  more 
after  that,  till  the  arches  of  the  forest  rang  as  they 
had  not  rung  since  creation's  dawn.  And  then,  being 
suddenly  very  tired  out  indeed,  the  adventurers  sat 
down  upon  the  reef  and  looked  at  one  another's  mar- 
vellously altered  faces. 

It  felt — how  did  it  feel  ?     As  if  a  window  had 


GUINEA  GOLD  165 

suddenly  slipped  down  and  shut  out  the  noise  and 
rush  of  a  hurrying  midday  thoroughfare,  leaving,  in- 
stead, a  silence  almost  bewildering.  As  if  one  had 
been  rushing  across  a  continent  in  an  express  train, 
engine  screaming,  dust  flying,  landscape  quivering 
past — and  in  a  moment  found  oneself  standing  still, 
on  a  quiet  little  country  platform,  with  the  sunshine 
sleeping  on  the  empty  rails,  and  the  far-off  throb  of 
the  train  dying  away  in  the  distance.  .  .  .  The 
struggle,  the  chase,  the  fight  with  time  and  space 
and  peril  and  hunger  were  done.  And  to  the  three 
hungry,  weary,  overworked,  and  excited  men  the 
sudden  blank  was  staggering. 

"  I  can't  believe  it,  somehow,"  said  Scott,  with 
a  rather  weak  laugh,  absently  fingering  the  wonder- 
ful reef. 

"  Nor  I;  but  it's  true,"  said  Anderson,  his  eyes 
fixing  themselves  on  the  bucket-shaped  fragment, 
with  its  glittering  incrustations,  as  if  they  could  never 
detach  themselves  again.  "  Dence,  I  can't  keep  my 
hands  off  this  much  longer.  Suppose  we  send  back 
to  the  camp  and  fetch  our  picks  and  some  tucker, 
and  get  all  we  can  out  of  this  show  before 
dark?" 

11  Righto,"  assented  Dence.  "  I'm  aching  to  be 
at  it.    Who'll  go?" 

"  I  don't  mind,"  said  Scott,  who  felt  as  though  he 
needed  a  little  sobering.  "  We  don't  want  the  boys 
here  at  present,  I  suppose." 

"  You  suppose   right,"   answered  Anderson   em- 


1 66  GUINEA  GOLD 

phatically.  "  They're  not  needed  to  work  this  sort 
of  thing,  and  the  less  they  know  the  better." 

"  I  thought  so  when  you  sent  us  back  to  stop  them 
as  soon  as  you  caught  sight  of  the  reef." 

"  Hurry,  hurry!  "  urged  Dence,  who  was  fidgeting 
about  the  reef,  picking  away  with  a  penknife.  An- 
derson had  already  got  hold  of  a  sharp  fragment 
of  stone  and  knocked  a  bit  of  gold  out. 

"Yes,  hurry!  "  he  added,  hitting  away  with  his 
improvised  hammer. 

They  had  had  a  tiring  and  exciting  half-day,  and 
every  one  of  the  three  was  more  or  less  weak  for 
want  of  proper  food.  The  heat,  as  the  day  wore  on, 
became  appalling,  down  in  this  airless  glade,  shut  off 
from  every  breath  of  river  air,  and  canopied  by 
thickly  gathering  thunderclouds.  Yet  they  worked 
that  afternoon  as  if  the  Last  Day  were  upon  them, 
and  salvation  purchasable  by  the  gold  they  should 
win  before  the  dark  came  down.  They  tore  and 
smashed  at  the  rock  with  their  picks,  and  clawed  it 
with  their  hands.  They  put  the  broken  fragments  in 
an  iron  camp  oven,  and  beat  them  still  smaller,  and 
picked  the  gold  out  of  them  in  flakes  and  lumps  and 
pieces.  They  pooled  their  gains  in  a  quart  billy-can, 
and  saw  the  gold  cover  the  bottom,  and  begin  to 
climb  up  the  sides,  before  the  four  o'clock  storm 
broke  upon  their  heads.  And  in  the  middle  of  the 
storm  they  went  on,  swinging  their  picks  under  a 
ceaseless  crackle  and  roar  of  bellowing  flame  that 


GUINEA  GOLD  167 

lit  up  the  dripping  caves  of  the  forest  with  blue  lights 
like  signal-flares,  and  turned  the  rain  to  streaming 
glass,  and  showed  the  lines  of  weariness  on  the  three 
tired  faces,  as  they  passed  continually,  in  the  alter- 
nating leap  of  the  flashes,  from  glare  to  gloom.  .  .  . 
That  night,  in  the  camp  by  the  river,  white  men  and 
black  slept  as  sound  as  Cripps  himself,  lying  in 
his  unknown  bed  beneath  the  sodden  earth  and  leaves 
of  the  "  untrampled  forest  floor."  There  was  no 
sentry  set,  and  no  one  waked,  so  the  little  point  of 
flame  that  rose  and  brightened  and  died  away,  a  long 
way  off  down  the  river,  was  seen  by  none. 


CHAPTER  X 

Mr.  Rupert  Dence  was  thinking. 

Two  days  had  passed  since  the  finding  of  the  reef, 
and  almost  two  nights.  It  was  the  second  night  now 
— still  and  blue  and  moonlit,  the  river  black  glass  in 
the  shadows,  silver  glass  in  the  light;  the  forest  in- 
digo and  moss-agate  green  beneath  the  pouring  flood 
of  the  wonderful  tropic  moon.  She  was  past  the  full 
to-night,  and  so  rose  late.  The  camp  by  the  river 
had  been  long  asleep  when  Rupert  Dence  stirred  on 
the  rough  sacking  of  his  bed,  stretched,  sighed, 
awoke,  and  looked  out  from  under  the  fly  upon  a 
slumbering  world. 

There  is  no  man  or  woman  but  knows  that  three 
o'clock  waking,  when  the  little  nibbling  care  that  has 
lain  drugged  by  labour  throughout  the  day,  and  by 
weariness  through  the  early  night,  stirs  to  life  again, 
and  sets  its  teeth  at  work.  "  Sleep  no  more !  "  it 
cries,  like  the  voice  that  grieved  Macbeth.  "  Sleep 
no  more — I  have  been  waiting  for  the  moment  when 
your  tired  body  should  rise  for  a  moment  like  a 
corpse  through  the  drowning  sea  of  sleep,  and  I 
have  set  my  fangs  into  it,  to  make  sure  that  it  shall 
not  sink  again.    Wake,  and  listen,  and  feel !  " 

Rupert  Dence  had  been  haunted  by  just  such  a 
little  rat-like  care,  ever  since  the  day  in  the  forest 

168 


GUINEA  GOLD  169 

when  they  had  met  with  the  invisible  Kariva  bow- 
men. Something  had  happened  that  day  which  puz- 
zled him.  Something  more  had  happened  on  the 
day  when  Scott  failed  to  count  the  carriers  right. 
And  only  a  few  hours  before  a  third  thing  had  hap- 
pened— he  thought. 

He  was  not  sure — that  was  the  worst  of  it.  When 
a  man  is  constantly  tobacco-hungry  he  imagines  the 
smell  and  taste  of  tobacco,  at  times,  where  it  does 
not  exist.  Dence,  like  all  New  Guinea  miners,  was 
a  heavy  smoker,  and  the  daily  reduction  of  his  allow- 
ance irked  him  not  a  little.  That  evening,  when 
the  sunset  wind  was  blowing  up  the  river,  he  had 
been  washing  himself  in  the  stream,  and  he  really  did 
think  that  the  faintest  possible  whiff  of  "  navy  cut " 
not  stick,  which  was  all  the  expedition  carried — had 
been  blown  for  an  instant  to  his  hungry  nos- 
trils. 

If  it  had  been?  If  they  had  allowed  the  hunt  and 
the  finding  of  the  reef  to  blind  them  to  things  they 
should  have  remembered  .    .    . 

The  madness  of  gold  was  upon  them;  they  could 
think  and  speak  of  nothing  else.  All  that  day,  from 
sunrise  to  dark,  they  had  been  labouring  desperately 
at  the  reef,  tearing  from  it  its  shining  treasure,  hardly 
believing  their  eyes  as  they  saw  the  richness  of  what 
they  had  got,  yet  talking  constantly  of  the  untouched 
millions  that  might  lie  buried  in  the  earth  below. 
Before  those  millions  the  hundred  that  they  were 
garnering  with  their  picks  from  the  exposed  outcrop 


170  GUINEA  GOLD 

seemed  almost  poor.  Anderson  calculated,  at  the 
end  of  the  day,  that  they  had  won  about  four  hundred 
and  fifty  among  the  three,  and  nobody  thought  it 
nearly  enough. 

For  all  that,  they  were  wild  with  the  excitement  of 
the  work;  not  one  of  them  went  back  to  the  camp  for 
food  or  rest  during  all  the  long,  hot  day.  They 
hacked  open  a  couple  of  tins,  and  bolted  the  contents 
from  plates  of  ship's  biscuit,  drinking  out  of  the 
bucket  of  water  they  had  brought  from  the  river  in 
the  morning,  and  feeding  themselves  from  hands  cov- 
ered with  clinging  dirt,  and  curiously  spangled  about 
the  nails  with  gold.  They  talked  gold  all  day.  They 
told  each  other  what  had  been  got  in  Westralia  in 
the  early  times  of  the  rush;  they  spoke  of  the  cruel 
Klondyke;  they  went  back  to  tales  of  Ballarat  and 
Bendigo,  and  the  era  of  the  u  Forty-Nine."  They 
threw  bitter  contempt  upon  the  moderate  gains  of 
old  Papuan  fields,  Yodda  and  Lakakamu  and  Ki- 
kiramu,  and  sneered  at  the  Woodlark  Reef,  which 
you  had  to  go  after  four  hundred  feet  underground, 
and  which  didn't  work  out  more  than  an  ounce  or  so 
to  the  ton  when  you  got  it.  Now  and  then  one  of 
the  three  would  break  off  into  an  account  of  what  he 
meant  to  do  with  his  share,  but  that  part  seemed  far 
off,  and  unreal,  and  did  not  really  interest  anyone 
very  much  in  these  first  hours  of  furious  gold-getting. 
The  royal  metal  seemed  aim  and  end  in  itself. 

So  they  worked,  and  went  home,  and  slept.  And 
so  Dence  woke  up,  late  in  the  night,  with  the  little 


GUINEA  GOLD  171 

rat  of  anxiety  gnawing  away  in  his  mind,  and  de- 
manding to  be  noticed. 

Was  there  anyone  else  on  the  river? 

Most  unlikely — well-nigh  impossible.  .  .  .  Yet — 
was  not  Papua  the  Country  of  the  Impossible? 

Rupert  Dence  sat  up  on  his  bunk  in  the  moonlight, 
his  eyes  looking  down  the  river,  his  chin  set  on  his 
knees — and  found  no  answer  to  his  thoughts. 

Anderson  and  Scott,  rising  at  the  dawn  of  day  and 
making  haste  to  get  breakfast  over,  so  that  they 
might  begin  their  work  again  as  soon  as  possible, 
found  the  third  partner  disinclined  to  get  up.  Dence 
was  in  one  of  his  nasty  moods.  He  was  not  sick,  he 
said;  he  was  simply  tired  and  sleepy,  and  he  meant  to 
stop  where  he  was.  When  they  tried  to  punch  him  into 
getting  up  and  taking  his  share  of  work,  he  swore  at 
them  elaborately,  and  wrapped  his  head  in  his  blan- 
ket, out  of  which  proceeded,  afterwards,  certain  muf- 
fled sounds,  having  reference  to  the  folly  of  losing 
your  night's  sleep  under  any  circumstances,  espe- 
cially when  it  did  no  adjectived  persons  any  ad- 
jectived  good,  and  brought  you  no  adjectived  thanks. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  advised  Anderson.  "  Dence  is 
a  queer  fish,  and  won't  stand  being  interfered  with. 
There  isn't  any  terrible  hurry." 

It  was  pleasant  walking  through  the  bush  to  the 
reef  again,  in  the  cool  of  early  morning,  pink  and 
lilac  orchid  flowers  smelling  sweet  on  the  branches 
of  the  great  dusk  trees,  bell-birds  tank-tanking,  and 


172  GUINEA  GOLD 

Gaura  pigeons  ringing  golden  chimes.  The  two  men 
spoke  little.  They  were  filled  with  quiet,  dreamy 
happiness,  the  calm  of  feeling  that  follows  on  the 
storm,  whether  of  joy  or  grief.  They  saw  before 
them  long  years  of  luxury  and  ease  that  they  had 
bought  with  toil  and  danger  unspeakable.  They  felt 
the  weight  of  common  human  anxieties  lifted  away 
for  ever  from  their  hearts — those  anxieties  that' 
are  carried  all  through  life  by  almost  every  man; 
fear  for  the  "  rainy  day,"  fear  for  the  grey,  cold 
years  when  the  grasshopper  shall  be  a  burden,  fear 
for  the  vulnerable  body  so  easily  hurt  or  crippled, 
and  fear  of  the  bitter  bread  that  broken  men  must 
eat.  There  were  no  such  fears  for  them.  The  little 
white  curb  of  quartz,  with  its  yellow  spots  and 
streakings,  was  high  enough  to  wall  them  off  for  ever. 

They  walked  into  the  clearing  that  they  had  made 
about  the  reef. 

Astride  the  curb  of  quartz  sat  Clay  of  Sama- 
rai,  his  pasty  face  terrible  with  fear  and  twitching 
with  evil  triumph.  He  had  a  loaded  revolver  in 
each  hand.  A  bunch  of  native  carriers  squatted  on 
the  ground  behind  him.  Some  few  yards  from  where 
he  sat,  the  morning  sun  rays  shot  through  the  trees 
straight  upon  a  new-cut  wooden  post  hammered  into 
the  ground,  and  bearing  a  paper,  on  which  some 
words  were  written  in  blotted  ink. 

Scott  stopped  dead  on  the  verge  of  the  clearing, 
dumfoundered.  He  could  not  believe  he  saw  rightly. 
And  what  the  mischief  .   .   . 


GUINEA  GOLD  173 

He  caught  the  expression  on  Anderson's  face, 
and  it  struck  him  like  a  blow.  The  miner  had 
turned  a  horrible  white,  and  his  greenish  eyes  had 
dilated  till  they  looked  nearly  black. 

"  Good  God  in  Heaven !  "  he  choked.  "  The  little 
devil's  jumped  our  claim!  " 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Scott,  with  a  feeling 
of  cold  fright  creeping  up  his  back.  "  What  has  he 
done?  What  business  has  he  here?  Kick  him 
out!" 

"  I  can't,"  said  Anderson,  still  in  that  low,  choked 
voice. 

"  You  can't!  You  can't!"  crowed  Clay,  like  a 
rooster  with  the  croup.  He  was  terribly  frightened, 
and  the  revolvers  swayed  in  his  grip.  "  You  never 
pegged  your  claim.  I've  a  perfect  right.  The 
Government  will  support  me.  My  boys  are  witnesses 
— I  pegged  out  the  claim  first,  early  this  morning — 
read  the  notice.  It's  all  in  order.  I — I — I'll  shoot 
any  man  who  touches  it." 

He  laughed  the  high  whinnying  laugh  of  abject 
fear.  But  it  was  not  the  fear  of  the  creature  that 
was  so  disgusting  to  see;  it  was  his  dreadful  courage 
— the  courage  of  a  starveling  dog  over  a  stolen  bone. 
The  bone  is  life  to  him — if  its  loss  were  death  to 
you,  or  a  thousand  of  you,  he  would  keep  his  teeth 
in  it  just  the  same. 

"  Finding's  keeping!  "  he  whinnied.  "  Don't  you 
dare  touch  me.  You'll  hang  if  you  do.  This — this 
isn't  your  old  Crown  Colony  days.     We've  got  a 


174  GUINEA  GOLD 

Government  of  our  own.  You'll  be  hanged,  I  tell 
you." 

There  seemed  to  be  something  in  Anderson's  face 
that  induced  him  to  harp  on  the  question,  for  he 
called  out  yet  once  again  that  they  hanged  you  in 
Papua  nowadays,  before  he  fell  silent,  looking  at  the 
two  miners,  and  trying  to  keep  his  chin  from  jerking 
up  and  down. 

"  The  question  is,"  said  Anderson,  speaking  quite 
quietly,  "  whether  it  isn't  worth  hanging — for  you." 

"  I'll  shoot  you,"  babbled  Clay. 

"  I've  seen  men  strung  up — for  much  less,"  stated 
Anderson.  "  In  Venezuela.  And  other  places." 
He  seemed  to  be  communing  with  himself,  and  mak- 
ing up  his  mind — under  the  wobbling  barrels  of  the 
two  revolvers.  Scott  clinched  his  teeth  as  the  gleam 
of  the  trembling  steel  crossed  his  own  face;  he  could 
see  that  Clay  was  scarcely  responsible  for  his  actions 
at  the  moment,  and  he  wished  himself  well  out  of 
the  range  of  those  threatening  muzzles.  But  one 
could  not  move  away,  while  Anderson  stood  look- 
ing right  into  the  clump  of  lead-nosed  barrels,  coolly 
deciding  what  he  should  do. 

There  was  always  a  chance  of  surprise  from  stalk- 
ing Karivas  in  these  unknown  regions,  and  the  three 
adventurers  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  wearing 
their  own  revolvers  all  day  long.  Anderson's  swung 
loose  on  his  hip  in  an  open  holster,  and  Scott  saw  his 
fingers  stealing  round  to  it,  while  Clay,  half  blind 
with  fright,  kept  babbling  and  exulting,  and  waving 


GUINEA  GOLD  175 

his  weapon  in  the  air.  .  .  .  The  big  miner's  face  had 
changed — was  changing  .   .   . 

"No,  by  God,  you  don't!  " 

Scott  never  knew  whether  he  said  the  words,  or 
merely  thought  them.  But  he  had  Anderson  by  the 
arm  in  an  instant,  and  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
shipyard-toughened  muscles  was  tugging  him  back 
into  the  bush.  Before  you  could  have  called  out, 
they  were  struggling  and  scrapping  confusedly 
through  the  undergrowth,  one  hauling,  the  other 
resisting — a  wrestling  bout  that  meant  life  or  death 
to  Clay. 

Clay  had  sense  enough  to  see  that,  and,  still  clutch- 
ing his  revolvers,  but  forgetting  that  he  held  them, 
fled  into  the  forest.  And  the  two  partners  fought, 
among  the  thorny  citron  bushes,  and  the  tangled 
lianas,  and  the  spindling,  long-branched  gum  trees — 
smashing,  tripping,  and  shouting  out. 

"  Quit  it,  Anderson,  ye  fool !  "  gasped  the  Belfast- 
man.  "  Quit,  I  tell  ye !  I'm  not  going  to  stand  by 
and  see  ye  commit  murder." 

a  You'll  feel  me  commit  it,  if  you  don't  let  me 
go !  "  roared  the  other.  "  Do  you  know  what  he's 
done?    LET  GO!" 

"  I  will,"  said  Scott  suddenly,  releasing  his  hold. 
He  had  seen  Clay  disappear  in  the  bush. 

Anderson  glared  round  him  like  a  tiger  robbed  of 
its  prey. 

"  Where's  he  gone?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Now,  you  don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  tell  you 


176  GUINEA  GOLD 

that.  Can't  you  keep  your  hair  on  for  a  minute,  and 
tell  me  what's  happened?  "  Scott  was  fastening  up 
his  shirt,  torn  nearly  off  his  back.  He  seemed  much 
the  cooler  of  the  two,  but  in  reality  a  horrid  fear 
was  thumping  at  his  heart.  What  must  the  injury 
be  that  had  so  transformed  the  iron-natured  Ander- 
son? 

"  Happened?  "  said  Anderson,  breathing  quickly, 
and  catching  hold  of  a  tree-fern  trunk,  as  though  he 
needed  its  support.  "  He  has  taken  the  reef  from 
us.    That's  all." 

"How?"  asked  Scott,  with  dry  lips.  This  was 
very  bad. 

"  Pegged  out  a  claim — all  over  the  outcrop.  I 
didn't  need  to  look  at  the  notice — it  was  the  one 
thing  he  would  do.  It's  his — by  mining  law,  and 
Commonwealth  law." 

"  Why  didn't  we  peg  out  our  claim?  " 

Anderson  groaned. 

u  Why  didn't  we?  Because  Dence  and  I  were  two 
of  the  wretchedest  fools  that  ever  .  .  .  But  there 
wasn't  a  white  man  within  a  week's  march. — How 

could  one Scott,  we've  been  bad  mates  to  you. 

We've  ruined  you." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  rot;  if  you  can  stand  it,  I  can.  Of 
course,  I  didn't  know " 

"  No— and  we  didn't  think.  .  .  .  The  little  devil's 
been  at  the  Kikiramu  all  the  time.  That  cook  must 
have  been  him.  He  must  have  got  Carter  to  grub- 
stake him,  with  some  plausible  tale  or  other,  and 


GUINEA  GOLD  177 

followed  us  up  almost  as  soon  as  we  started.  A 
child  could  have  traced  us  by  our  track.  And  there 
were  his  boys  making  sago  in  the  same  swamp  as 
ours — the  day  one  of  them  got  into  our  crowd,  and 
you  counted  thirty-two.  .  .  .  Why  didn't  we  see?  " 
he  groaned. 

They  had  both  quieted  down  now.  They  were 
beginning  to  realise  what  it  meant.  The  golden 
dream  was  gone.  There  would  be  no  triumphal 
voyage  down  to  Sydney  in  the  best  cabins  of  the  B.P. 
liners — the  gates  of  all  the  delights  in  all  the  world 
opening  wide  before  them  as  they  went — no  magic 
raft  to  float  them  up  above  the  struggles  and  mis- 
eries of  a  drowning,  moneyless  humanity — no  latter 
end  secure  from  the  fear  of  dependence,  that  haunts 
a  brave  man  worse  than  the  fear  of  death.  They 
would  be — like  other  people.    Nothing  more. 

Slowly,  as  beasts  that  have  received  a  deadly 
wound,  they  crawled  home.  The  camp  was  as  they 
left  it;  the  natives  had  not  finished  their  billy-can  of 
rice  they  were  beginning  when  the  two  had  started 
out.     Dence,  coiled  in  his  bunk,  still  slept. 

The  Australian  and  the  Irishman  sat  down  upon 
the  ground  and  looked  at  the  carriers  wolfing  their 
food.  A  flight  of  hornbills,  dark  green  bodied, 
orange  necked,  crossed  the  river.  A  wild  pig,  far 
away  in  the  forest,  crashed  among  the  trees.  It  was 
very  quiet;  you  could  hear  the  insects  crawling  in 
the  bush  and  the  dead  leaves  dropping  in  the  stream. 

They  had  not  the  heart  to  speak. 


178  GUINEA  GOLD 

Presently  Dence  took  his  head  from  under  his 
arm,  untwisted  his  legs,  and  woke  up. 

"  I've  had  a  good  sleep,"  he  remarked,  turning 
out  of  his  bunk.  "  Did  you  fellows  eat  all  the  kai- 
kai?    I  could  manage  half  a  pig,  if  we  had  one." 

u  Dence,"  said  Anderson,  sitting  on  the  ground, 
"  there's  only  one  damned  fool  to  match  you  in  the 
world,  and  that's  me." 

"  But  why?  "  queried  Dence,  pulling  on  his  boots. 
"  No  use  looking  so  down  in  the  mouth  about  it, 
anyhow,  if  you  have  found  out  the  truth  once  in  a 
way." 

"  I'm  not  having  the  loan  of  you,"  said  Anderson. 
*'  I'm  serious.  Clay  has  sneaked  after  us  and  pegged 
out  our  claim." 

Mr.  Dence  finished  pulling  on  his  boot  without 
any  comment.  He  looked  under  the  bunk  for  the 
other,  pulled  that  on  too,  and  then  came  out  from 
under  the  fly,  hair  on  end,  and  shirt  open  over  his 
chest.    He  looked  at  Anderson  with  a  quizzical  eye. 

11  You  are  a  funny  devil,  you  know,"  he  said. 

"Hang  you,  we're  not  making  fun!"  shouted 
Scott.  "  It's  true.  Go  and  look  at  the  peg  he's  put 
up,  if  you  don't  believe  it."  He  was  feeling  very 
sore  indeed  against  the  two  for  their  neglect  in  peg- 
ging out  the  claims — though  he  knew  that  not  one  in 
a  thousand  would  have  done  so,  in  such  a  place  as 
this — and  the  effort  to  keep  back  any  reproach  made 
him  vicious. 

Dence,  being  out  of  the  tent,  looked  deliberately 


GUINEA  GOLD  179 

round  him  for  a  tree  with  a  good,  steady  trunk. 
Having  found  one,  he  leaned  up  against  it,  shut  his 
eyes,  opened  his  mouth,  and  laughed  till  he  nearly 
choked. 

"  I  never — never — knew — such  a  good  one,"  he 

panted.     "  Oh,  to  see  your  faces "    He  was  off 

again.  u  Stop  me,  Anderson,  I'll  shake  my  ribs 
loose.  Oh — I  can't  breathe.  Oh,  by  Jove,  it's  too 
rich."    He  yelled  louder. 

Scott  stared  in  utter  bewilderment,  tinged  with 
annoyance.  But  Anderson's  eyes  were  beginning  to 
glitter,  and  the  colour  was  coming  back  to  his  face. 
He  got  up,  looked  at  Dence,  saw  his  laughter  fit  was 
hot  likely  to  come  to  an  immediate  end,  and  de- 
liberately emptied  a  bucket  of  water  over  the  laugh- 
er's head. 

"Confound  you,  what  did  you  do  that  for?" 
spluttered  Dence,  all  the  laugh  washed  out  of  him. 

"  I  reckoned  it  was  the  best  way  to  treat  hysterics," 
said  Anderson  dryly.  "  Out  with  it.  What  have  you 
done?" 

"  Got  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  pegged 
out  three  claims,  one  for  each  of  us — 75  by  400 
apiece.  We'll  see  to  the  extra  reward  claim  to- 
morrow. (Where's  there  a  towel?  You've  half 
drowned  me!)     Put  the  four  pegs  in  all  right  and 

stuck  up  the  notice.    Took Here,  you  needn't 

pound  my  ribs  off  my  backbone — who's  got  hysterics 
now?" 

"  Good  for  you !    Good  old  man !  "  Anderson  was 


180  GUINEA  GOLD 

exclaiming,  to  the  accompaniment  of  hearty  slaps 
upon  Dence's  back.  Scott  had  leaped  to  his  feet  with 
a  spring  like  a  wallaby,  and  was  pumping  the  Eng- 
lishman's arm  up  and  down,  using,  in  his  excitement, 
expressions  that  would  certainly  not  have  passed 
muster  in  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association. 

"  Unhand  me,  sir !  "  commanded  Dence  loftily. 
"  My  Lord,  I  conjure  you  let  me  pass — I  would  go 
and  clean  myself  in  the  river." 

"  No,  you  don't,"  Anderson  assured  him.  "  We 
want  to  hear  some  more." 

"  There  isn't  any  more.  I  dated  it,  and  took 
Yassi  and  Kobo  with  me  to  see  what  I  did,  by  the 
struggling  moonbeams'  misty  light,  and  the  lantern 
dimly  burnin'.  Then  I  went  back,  and  lay  like  a 
warrior  takin'  his  rest,  till  you  two  came  back.  .  .  . 
And  Clay  got  up  very  early,  did  he,  the  little  bird, 
and  went  out  to  catch  the  early  worm?  And  why 
didn't  the  little  bird  see  that  the  bloomin'  little  worm 
was  caught  already?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  plain,"  said  Anderson,  who  now 
looked  ten  years  younger  than  he  had  done  a  few 
minutes  earlier.  "  He  was  afraid  to  take  up  time 
marking  out  the  proper  square,  so  he  put  in  a  datum 

Peg " 

"What's  that?"  asked  Scott. 

"  What  you  saw.  A  peg  put  up  to  claim  a  cer- 
tain area — 75  by  400  is  the  limit — in  the  two  direc- 
tions mentioned  on  the  notice.  It's  as  good  as  the 
other — if  it  gets  there  first.     Of  course,  he  had  to 


GUINEA  GOLD  181 

take  up  a  smaller  area,  so  he  never  saw  Dence's 
pegs  at  all — they  must  have  been  out  of  sight  in  the 
bush." 

"Then  we're  really  all  right,  after  all?" 

"  You  bet." 

44  Three  cheers  for  Dence !  "  yelled  Scott,  throwing 
up  his  hat. 

They  gave  them,  and  another  to  follow,  Dence 
very  obligingly  joining  in  himself,  because,  as  he 
explained,  the  cheer  would  have  been  spoiled  if  he 
hadn't.  Clay,  skulking  about  in  the  bush,  as  near  as 
he  dared,  heard  the  cheering,  and  felt  his  heart  sink 
with  fear.     Why  should  ruined  men  cheer? 

He  found  out  before  very  long,  when  the  ruined 
men,  quartering  the  bush  among  them  with  scientific 
precision,  started  out  to  run  him  down.  He  heard 
them  coming,  and  made  widely  for  the  river,  hoping 
to  reach  the  canoe  he  had  left  tied  up  under  a  log  in 
time  to  get  away.  But  his  boys,  who  liked  their 
master  not  at  all,  and  considered  the  hunt  an  excel- 
lent joke,  frustrated  his  efforts  by  getting  in  his  way 
at  every  opportunity,  so  that  the  chase  was  short  and 
disastrous — for  the  quarry.  In  less  than  ten  minutes 
Clay  was  struggling  and  howling  in  the  grip  of 
Dence,  while  Anderson  and  Scott,  roaring  with 
laughter,  tied  his  hands  and  feet  with  "  bush  ropes  " 
and  slung  him  on  a  pole,  after  the  fashion  of  cannibal 
Papua  preparing  for  a  feast.  His  own  boys,  at  the 
order  of  the  miners,  took  him  very  readily  upon 
their  shoulders,  and  carried  him  through  the  bush 


182  GUINEA  GOLD 

to  the  camp  by  the  river.  The  miners  followed,  still 
laughing;  Clay  filled  the  bush  with  terrified  cries 
and  entreaties  and  threats  of  Government  vengeance; 
the  native  carriers,  uplifted  and  excited,  sang  a  war- 
song  as  they  went.  And  above  all  the  noise  made 
by  the  strange  procession,  rose  the  frantic  screeching 
of  the  great  white  cockatoos  that  lived  on  the  cliffs 
above  the  river;  for  your  cockatoo  is  the  natural 
sentry  of  the  wilds,  and  gives  ample  tongue  to  his 
suspicions  at  the  least  suggestion  of  trouble. 

Before  they  reached  the  camp,  they  carried  their 
prisoner  round  by  the  reef,  and  showed  him  every 
one  of  Dence's  pegs,  bumping  his  head  soundly  on 
each,  to  impress  it  upon  his  memory. 

"  The  Government  will  protect  us,"  they  told  him. 
"  You'll  be  hanged  if  you  look  crooked  at  us. 
There's  law  and  order  in  the  country  nowadays." 

They  carried  him  down  to  the  river-bank,  and 
deposited  him,  none  too  carefully,  on  the  ground. 
His  doughy  face  was  green  with  fright,  and  he  kept 
crying  on  them,  in  God's  name,  for  Christ's  sake,  to 
let  him  go. 

"  Hear  the  brute !  "  said  Anderson  disgustedly, 
spitting  into  the  river.  "  He's  enough  to  make  any- 
one turn  atheist." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Dence,  with  a  sidewise  wink, 
"  that  it  would  be  better  to  drop  him  into  the  river 
just  as  he  is,  or  give  him  to  the  boys  to  play  with? 
We've  a  few  young  devils  of  Orokivas  who  would 
enjoy  a  little  fun." 


GUINEA  GOLD  183 

At  this,  Clay  began  to  fight  wildly  against  the  re- 
straining ropes.  Kobo,  who  was  a  fine,  upstanding, 
well-mannered  boy,  came  forward  eagerly,  his  eyes 
glowing,  and  pulled  the  lianas  tighter. 

"  Taubada,"  he  said,  with  an  ingratiating  smile, 
"  more  better  you  give  him  along  we-fellow  Orokiva 
boy.  All  the  time  we-fellow  no  got  betel-nut,  no  got 
dance,  no  got  fight,  no  got  nothings,  makem  play 
belong  Orokiva.  All  the  time  belly  be  long  we- 
fellow  all  same  one  big  stone  he  stop  along  him. 
Suppose  you  giving  bad-fellow  white  man,  Orokiva 
boy  he  plenty  like." 

"What  will  you  do  with  him?  "  asked  Anderson 
gravely. 

14  By  n'  by  we  breakem  leg  belong  him,  takem  one 
stick-fire,  put  him  along  eye,"  said  the  Orokiva,  with 
a  delightful  smile.  "  Behind,  he  stop  one  day,  two 
day,  we  look  along  him,  no  can  run  away,  plenty 
we  talk  along  him,  make  sing,  make  dance.  By  n' 
by  makem  plenty  big  pyre,  puttem  that  fellow  along 
pyre,  he  cook  all  same  pig,  all  same  dish.  Plenty  he 
sing  out,  altogether  grease  belong  him  he  fell  down 
along  fire.  Very  good,  my  word!  Taubada,  you 
like?" 

It  seemed  to  the  Orokiva  that  his  employers  were 
showing  signs  of  a  more  liberal-minded  sporting 
disposition  than  he  had  believed  them  to  possess, 
and  he  was  ready  at  once  to  meet  them  on  their  own 
ground.  A  New  Guinea  savage  is  not  really  sur- 
prised. 


1 84  GUINEA  GOLD 

But  Scott  had  had  as  much  as  he  wanted,  for 
Clay  was  beginning  to  howl. 

"  Shut  up,  you  silly  brute !  "  he  said  loudly. 
"  They're  only  taking  a  rise  out  of  you.  No  one's 
going  to  hurt  you.  Go  on,  you  bushman,  and  clean 
the  billy-cans,"  he  added,  throwing  at  the  Orokiva 
the  epithet  that  for  some  incomprehensible  reason 
grieves  and  reduces  to  submission  almost  any  native 
of  New  Guinea. 

"  Me  no  bushman !  "  protested  the  warrior,  in  a 
mortified  tone,  slinking  away  to  his  scullion-work. 

"  Well,  since  Scott  has  given  the  show  away, 
there's  no  use  keepin'  it  up  any  longer,"  remarked 
Dence.  "  Anderson,  I  vote  we  make  this  thing  use- 
ful, as  we'll  have  to  keep  it  here  for  a  good  bit.  It 
can  cook,  it  seems,  so  we'll  make  it  cook  and  general 
orderly,  and  pay  it  wages,  so  that  it  can't  say  it 
hasn't  had  a  fair  deal." 

11  Right,"  said  Anderson,  slashing  through  the 
ropes  with  his  knife. 

It  was  arranged  later  in  the  day  that  Scott,  as  the 
least  experienced  miner,  should  go  back  in  a  short 
time  to  the  Kikiramu  field  to  place  the  applications 
with  the  warden,  and  fetch  up  a  fresh  supply  of  food, 
taking  a  number  of  carriers  with  him.  For  the  pres- 
ent, and  until  the  miners  thought  well  to  release  him, 
Clay  was  to  look  upon  himself  as  a  prisoner.  There 
was  no  fear  of  his  running  away,  since  he  could  not 
get  back  to  civilisation  without  carriers  or  stores. 

In  the  evening  the  three  mates  sat  on  a  log  near 


GUINEA  GOLD  -  185 

the  river  smoking,  beating  off  the  mosquitoes,  and 
talking.  Clay's  tent  had  been  put  up  within  sight 
of  the  others,  but  he  was  given  to  understand  that  his 
company  was  not  desired  in  the  white  men's  camp, 
so,   like  Achilles,  he  skulked  apart. 

"  It  was  the  oddest  thing  to  see  him  defy  us,"  said 
Scott,  relating  the  incidents  of  the  morning  yet  again. 
"  It  gave  one  quite  a  turn,  just  as  if  a  sheep  had  made 
for  you  and  bitten  you.    Seemed  sort  of  unnatural." 

"  Nothing's  unnatural,"  said  Dence. 

11  Well,  what  was  that?" 

"  Perfectly  natural.  Anything  that  has  life  will 
fight,  if  its  motive  is  strong  enough.  I  happen  to 
know  Clay's  motive." 

"  Oh,  the  gold." 

u  Not  quite — or  not  only.  What's  the  next 
strongest  passion  in  the  world?  " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  thing's  got  a  girl?  " 

"  I  don't.    That's  the  trouble." 

"How?"  asked  Scott,  puzzled  and  interested. 
He  felt  at  times  that  Dence  went  a  good  deal  beyond 
him.  Clay,  to  his  vision,  was  a  mere  human  rat — 
how  could  a  rat  have  any  motive  or  feeling  save  the 
rat-like  one  of  greediness? 

11  Did  you  ever  think,"  asked  Dence,  smoking 
slowly,  "  you  and  Anderson,  what  it  would  be  like 
if  no  woman  cared  for  you — ever  had,  or  ever 
could?" 

Two  right  hands  went  up  to  two  moustaches  and 
twisted  them   a   little  knowingly.     Anderson  only 


186  GUINEA  GOLD 

smiled.  You  could  see  he  thought  of  many  things. 
Scott  answered  quickly. 

"  No,  by  Jove,  I  did  not — but  it  would  be — well, 
it  would  be " 

He  wished  very  much  that  somebody  were  here  to 
boast  for  him.  Though  a  modest  man  enough,  Scott 
was  not  blind  to  the  fact  that  Janie,  and  the  girl  with 
the  sweet  brown  eyes,  were — what  could  one  say? — 
well,  scarcely  singular  in  their  tastes. 

"  Just  so,"  said  Dence.  "  Well,  there  are  men, 
not  very  many  of  them,  but  some,  who  have  never 
been  liked  by  anything  that  wore  a  skirt.  Clay's 
one.  Any  woman  on  earth  would  fancy  a  humpback 
sooner  than  him — fancy  a  blind  nigger — fancy  Satan 
himself.  Why?  You  ask  women;  they  might  tell 
you — I  couldn't,  for  I  don't  know,  but  there  it  is.  He 
isn't  exactly  an  ugly  fellow,  in  a  way :  he's  as  big  and 
strong  as  the  average;  if  he  lies  and  sneaks,  so  do 
thousands  who  are  liked  by  women  whose  shoes  they 
aren't  fit  to  tie.  But — women  won't  count  him  in 
the  game.  Never  did.  Never  will.  I've  known 
Clay  a  good  while,  and  I  know  that's  true. 

"  Well,"  he  went  on,  "  it's  pretty  well  poisoned 
his  life,  and — naturally — made  him  hate  men  who 
are  liked  by  women.  And  he  dreams  of  turnin'  the 
tables,  somehow  or  other,  some  day.  He  dreams  of 
being  rich,  so  that  he  can  buy  a  handsome  wife,  as  any 
rich  man  can — just  as  you  buy  a  horse  at  a  fair,  and 
put  a  halter  on  it,  and  tie  it  in  your  stable.  And  he 
fancies  how  he'd  be  seen  drivin'  in  motor-cars  with 


GUINEA  GOLD  187 

famous  actresses  and  singers,  who  wouldn't  go  out 
to  lunch  with  the  handsomest  man  he  knows,  unless 
they  got  somethin'  out  of  it — he  reckons  he'd  have 
diamonds  enough  handy  to  make  them  play  they  liked 
him,  anyhow.  And  he'd  flash  his  money  about  to 
such  an  extent  that  the  girls  who  like  all  the  other 
men  he  knows,  and  who  have  given  him  the  ugly 
set-down,  would  just  come  crawlin'  round.  Oh,  some 
of  his  notions  are  not  so  far  out — for  a  little  rat 
with  a  rat's  brain.  And,  if  you  want  to  know,  that's 
why  Clay  has  done — what  he  has." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  know,"  commented  Scott,  a 
little  acidly.  The  subject  Dence  had  started  held 
certain  drops  of  bitterness  somewhere — for  that 
company. 

"  I  know,"  said  the  man  who  had  lived  too  much, 
and,  as  he  sometimes  told  himself,  too  long.  "  There 
are  keys  that  unlock  most  doors.  .  .  .  Deuce  of  it 
is,  they  cost  such  a  lot,  that  by  the  time  you've  got 
the  bunch,  you're  pretty  well  bankrupt." 

Well,  I'm  for  bed,"  said  Scott,  stifling  a  yawn. 


CHAPTER  XI 

They  were  taking  round  the  eleven  o'clock  tea  in 
Samarai. 

Only  in  the  Land-of-Lots-of-Time  does  eleven 
o'clock  tea  really  flourish.  In  England,  it  sulks 
ashamed  about  back  drawing-rooms  and  housemaids' 
pantries,  cherished  as  a  secret  vice  by  the  women  of 
the  house,  and  contemned  by  the  men.  It  lifts  its 
head  to  the  status  of  a  tolerated  luxury  in  Australia, 
where  the  station  owner  and  his  hardy  sons  are  not 
ashamed  to  sit  down  on  the  verandah  with  wife 
and  sisters  and  temper  the  heat  of  the  morning  with 
a  refreshing  cup  or  two  before  they  set  foot  in  stir- 
rup again.  And  in  Australia's  outback  colony, 
Papua,  it  finds  its  own  at  last.  For  here  eleven 
o'clock  tea  is  actually  an  institution  of  the  country, 
recognised  by  Government. 

It  was  eleven,  and  a  beautiful,  molten-gold-hot 
morning.  Up  and  down  the  little  white  coral  path- 
ways, between  the  ranks  of  scarlet  crotons,  and 
under  the  shadow  of  the  tossing  palms,  trotted  the 
Government  boys,  brown-legged,  blue-tunicked,  bear- 
ing jugs  and  plates  to  the  Government  offices.  On 
all  the  verandahs  of  the  bungalows  and  hotels  spoons 
tinkled  and  china  clinked.  Men  who  did  not  drink 
tea,  because  their   tastes  were  for   stronger   stuff, 

188 


GUINEA  GOLD  189 

drifted  into  the  bars  of  Figg's  Federal,  and  Bunn's, 
driven  irresistibly  by  the  universal  thirst,  and  there 
comforted  themselves  with  beer. 

Charmian  Ducane  was  kept  busy  serving,  for  the 
town  was  full  at  present,  and  the  morning  was  un- 
usually warm.  Her  little  soft  hands,  once  white,  but 
reddened  now  by  the  constant  washing  and  wiping 
of  glasses,  were  hard  at  work  drawing  and  handing 
drink,  taking  money,  giving  change,  and  marking 
down  scores.  She  had  found  the  calculating  part 
almost  impossible  at  first;  even  yet  she  depended 
a  good  deal  on  a  paper  and  pencil,  and  more  on  the 
kindness  of  the  men  who  frequented  the  bar,  and 
who  were  always  ready  to  help  her  out  with  a  sum, 
or  to  protect  her  against  taking  bad  money.  She 
had  taken  a  good  deal  at  first,  especially  on  steamer 
days.  Figg  had  scolded  her,  and  she  had  cried  so 
much  about  it  that  her  eyes  were  very  red.  Then  a 
couple  of  Yodda  miners  had  asked  her  what  the 
matter  was,  and  she  had  told  them.  After  that  the 
word  had  gone  round  in  Samarai  that  anyone  who 
was  caught  giving  her  bad  money  would  suffer  for  it. 
Thenceforward  pewter  florins  and  composition  sov- 
ereigns came  no  more  to  the  Federal  till. 

Figg,  however,  was  dissatisfied.  He  had  engaged 
the  heroine  of  the  Ducane  trial  with  certain  ex- 
pectations which  had  not  been  fulfilled.  He  had 
never  supposed  she  would  make  a  smart  barmaid, 
but  he  did  anticipate  that  her  notoriety  would  draw 
all  Samarai  to  his  hotel,  out  of  sheer  curiosity.     It 


ic,o  GUINEA  GOLD 

did,  for  a  fortnight — no  more.  In  the  tiny  island 
town,  with  its  stationary  population,  everybody  had 
done  all  the  staring  that  curiosity  demanded,  very 
soon,  and  there  was  nothing  to  keep  up  interest,  once 
the  nine  days'  wonder  had  subsided. 

And  Mrs.  Ducane  was  not  a  good  barmaid. 

Anyone  could  see  that  she  hated  the  work,  and 
felt  degraded  by  it.  She  tried  to  be  pleasant  to 
everybody,  for  Charmian  was  an  honest  soul  (else 
had  she  paid  back  Ducane  in  his  own  base  coin, 
years  and  years  ago),  and  she  knew  that  her  smiles 
were  considered  in  her  salary.  So  she  wore  a  gal- 
vanised little  grin  that  was  the  most  piteous  thing 
about  her  piteous  position,  and  she  did  not  slap  the 
customers  in  the  face,  as  she  really  wished  to  do, 
when  they  squeezed  her  fingers  as  she  was  handing 
glasses.  But  she  could  not  manage  to  look  as  if  she 
liked  her  work  or  her  patrons,  and,  what  with  the 
fear  of  being  too  civil,  and  the  fear  of  not  being  civil 
enough,  she  always  seemed  half  scared — more  and 
more  to  the  annoyance  of  landlord  Figg,  who  began 
to  think  that  charity  was  too  expensive  a  luxury  for 
the  Federal  Hotel. 

This  day,  however,  she  was  brighter  than  usual, 
and  even  talked  to  the  men  she  was  serving  with 
something  like  the  old  gaiety  of  manner  that  had 
made  Mrs.  Ducane's  at-home  days  the  most  popu- 
lar in  North  Queensland — once  upon  a  time.  The 
wave  of  take-it-easiness  that  floods  all  Samarai  about 
the  coming  of  the  eleven  o'clock  hour  had  settled 


GUINEA  GOLD  191 

down  upon  Figg's ;  the  boarders  who  had  something 
to  do  had  slipped  away  from  doing  it,  to  lounge 
and  loaf  away  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  Charmian's 
bar.  The  boarders  who  had  nothing  to  do  (and  they 
were  many)  were  lying  about  the  seats  on  the  veran- 
dah, where  they  had  lain  since  breakfast,  drifting 
in  and  out  of  the  bar  now  and  then,  and  all  the  time 
exchanging  sleepy  gossip  with  the  people  who  came 
in  from  the  streets  and  stores. 

More  than  usual  this  morning  Charmian  disliked 
it  all — the  smell  of  liquor,  the  reek  of  tobacco,  the 
heat  and  the  dry  rattle  of  the  palms,  and  the  glare 
from  the  fierce  blue  sea  outside.  Yet  she  felt  better 
able  to  stand  it  than  usual,  for  she  had  a  letter  in 
her  pocket,  crackling  every  time  she  moved,  that  had 
put  new  light  in  the  golden  brown  of  her  eyes,  and 
had  caused  her,  for  no  reason  except  a  general  up- 
lifting of  heart,  to  put  on  her  very  best  muslin  dress. 
Who  shall  separate  cause  and  effect  in  the  tangle  of 
gratified  emotion  that  induces,  and  accompanies,  the 
wearing  of  a  pretty  woman's  prettiest  dress?  Char- 
mian felt  twenty  per  cent,  happier  than  usual  when 
she  got  the  letter,  and  ten  per  cent,  happier  still  when 
she  had  preened  her  feathers  to  celebrate  its  com- 
ing. In  spite  of  the  ill-smelling  bar,  and  the  glaring 
light,  and  the  rude  talk  of  the  men  about  her,  life 
looked  pleasant  this  morning.  Scott's  letter,  hidden 
away  in  her  pocket,  where  she  could  feel  it  crumple 
as  she  moved,  shed  its  own  glamour  upon  the  bar, 
and  the  town,  and  the  island — even  upon  the  world 


i92  GUINEA  GOLD 

beyond,  that  had  been  so  cruel  to  little  Charmian. 
After  all,  her  trouble  had  rid  her  of  Grant  Ducane; 
was  not  that  one  glorious  fact  compensation  enough 
for  anything? 

She  wiped  glasses  industriously,  tripping  about  the 
bar  with  a  lighter  foot  than  usual,  and  singing  softly 
as  she  moved.  The  hot  sea  creamed  hissing  on  the 
scorching  sand,  at  the  other  side  of  the  road  the 
palm-vanes  struck  their  huge  dry  hands  together  with 
a  sound  like  rain.  From  the  verandah  one  could 
hear  the  steady  stream  of  talk  that  flowed  among  the 
lounges  and  long  chairs — news  from  the  pearling 
islands  a  day  to  eastward;  chatter  about  Kikiramu 
goldfield  news,  just  brought  down  by  the  coasting 
steamer;  ship  talk  of  every  kind — when  the  Govern- 
ment yacht  was  due,  what  had  happened  to  So-and- 
so's  schooner;  whether  the  German  boat  would  call 
on  her  upward  trip  .    .    . 

"Not  she;  the  North  German  Lloyd  never  calls 
without  she's  got  forty  pounds'  worth  of  passenger 
to  fetch  at  the  least,  and  there's  no  one  due  from 
here  to  Singapore.  She  won't  call,"  maintained  a 
fat  trader  in  a  worn  suit  of  khaki. 

"What's  the  next  boat  in  from  south,  then?" 
asked  some  invisible  person. 

"  Matunga's  due  in  three  days,"  they  bab- 
bled on. 

Charmian  felt  half  asleep  as  she  stirred  about  her 
bar,  drawing  beer  for  a  couple  of  men  who  had  come 
in,  and  listening  dully  to  the  interminable  shipping 


GUINEA  GOLD  193 

talk.  It  did  not  interest  her  at  all.  How  stupefying 
the  smell  of  beer  was ! 

Of  a  sudden  a  howl  arose  from  the  natives  on 
the  beach—"  Say-0 !    Say-O !  " 

"  Sail-0 !  "  shouted  the  men  on  the  verandah, 
everyone  jumping  to  his  feet.  In  the  direction  of 
China  Straits  the  imperial  blue  of  the  morning  sky 
was  stained  by  a  thin  smear  of  trailing  black. 

"It  is  the  German  boat!"  triumphed  the  man 
who  had  been  arguing  with  the  trader.  "  Nothing 
else  could  make  such  a  smoke.  Never  calls  going  up, 
doesn't  she?  " 

"  She  must  have  passengers  to  land — a  good  lot 
of  them,"  maintained  the  trader.  He  was  really 
mortified,  for  they  take  the  doings  of  ships  mighty 
seriously  in  Samarai,  and  the  trade  of  marine  prophet 
— in  the  absence  of  telegraphy,  wireless  or  wired — 
carries  some  repute. 

But  when  the  great  yellow-funnelled  Norddeut- 
scher  Lloyd  had  come  to  anchor  in  the  Straits  before 
the  town,  looking  absurdly  big  there,  as  she  towered 
up  among  the  schooners  and  luggers  and  oil- 
launches,  it  became  plain  that  she  had  not  come  to 
land  passengers — at  least,  of  the  ordinary  kind.  The 
doctor  was  signalled  for,  and  went  out  as  usual;  he 
remained  a  good  while  on  board,  and  when  he  came 
ashore,  it  was  only  to  tell  his  hospital  assistant  that 
a  bed  would  be  wanted  for  an  accident  at  once,  and 
to  oversee  the  preparing  of  a  stretcher.  Then  he 
went  on  board  the  steamer  again,   and  helped  to 


194  GUINEA  GOLD 

lower  a  sick  man  into  his  own  whaleboat.  A  pas- 
senger on  the  ship  had  fallen  down  a  hatchway,  and 
had  been  so  badly  injured  that  the  ship's  doctor  re- 
fused to  subject  him  to  the  chances  of  wind  and 
weather  for  the  rest  of  the  run  to  Singapore.  As 
Samarai  had  a  doctor  and  a  hospital,  he  must  be 
landed  there.  So  ordained  the  Herr  Doktor,  and  so 
it  was  done. 

Therefore  the  German  boat  called,  and  therefore 
she  got  away  again  as  quickly  as  she  could,  having 
landed  her  accident  case.  All  Samarai  was  in  a  flut- 
ter of  excitement;  they  are  habitually  on  short  com- 
mons as  regards  happenings  of  interest  in  the  island 
town  (save  for  murders  in  the  interior,  cases  of 
cannibalism  reported  from  the  islands,  and  other 
everyday  incidents  about  which  nobody  cares) .  The 
doctor  was  fairly  besieged  on  his  usual  rounds  that 
afternoon.  Who  was  the  man?  What  was  the  mat- 
ter with  him?  Where  had  he  been  going?  Was  he 
going  to  recover?  How  would  he  get  away  again? 
And  a  hundred  questions  more  followed  the  busy 
official  as  he  went  up  and  down  the  park-like  walks 
of  the  island,  from  Bob  of  Woodlark,  the  latest 
miner  to  blow  off  his  right  arm  fishing  illegally  with 
dynamite,  to  Blank  of  Ioma,  brought  in  a  week  ago 
with  blackwater  fever;  from  Mrs.  Q.  and  her  baby, 
to  young  R.  the  magistrate  and  his  "  New  Guinea 
sore  leg." 

The  man,  according  to  the  doctor,  was  no  less  a 
person  than  Kenton,  lately  of  Lemba  Plantation — a 


GUINEA  GOLD  195 

man  who  had  made  money  in  Papua,  and  gone  away 
to  enjoy  it,  travelling  about  the  world.  He  had 
smashed  a  leg,  and  several  ribs,  and  the  lung  was 
perforated.  He  had  been  on  his  way  to  England, 
via  the  Malay  States.  He  was  certainly  going  to 
recover,  now  that  he  was  off  a  rolling  ship,  but  he 
wasn't  to  be  visited.  He  would  get  away  again  when 
it  pleased  Providence  and  Dr.  Cornwall.  (The  doc- 
tor was  young,  new,  and  a  locum  tenens ;  which  is  as 
much  as  to  say  that  he  took  a  dignified  and  solemn, 
not  to  say  sacred,  view  of  his  responsibilities  of 
office.) 

It  happened  that  evening  that  Dr.  Cornwall,  being 
kept  rather  long  at  Figg's  Federal  Hotel  in  attend- 
ance on  a  sick  trader,  thought  well  to  dine  there, 
instead  of  climbing  up  to  his  own  Governmental 
residence  on  the  top  of  the  island.  It  happened 
also  that  the  doctor,  who  advocated  teetotalism  in 
hot  climates,  but  did  not  practise  it,  turned  into  the 
bar  after  dinner  and  refreshed  himself  with  a  glass — 
or  two,  or  three — of  Figg's  excellent  whiskey.  And 
it  also  happened  that  he  talked,  perhaps  rather  more 
than  a  doctor  should. 

He  discoursed,  with  excellent  learning,  on  the 
state  of  his  patient's  injured  limbs  and  organs,  and 
on  the  natural  processes  that  would  assist  his  own 
healing  efforts.  He  was  patronising  about  Lister, 
and  mentioned  "  old  Ambrose  Pare  "  with  kindness. 
He  said  that  Frederick  Treves  was  a  good  fellow 
if  people  only  wouldn't  spoil  him,  and  observed  that 


ig6  GUINEA  GOLD 

he  personally  never  had.  He  went  off  at  a  tangent 
into  the  oath  of  Hippocrates,  and  remarked  in 
the  same  breath  that  Kenton's  evidently  intemperate 
habits  wouldn't  improve  his  chances  of  keeping  his 
leg;  also,  that  Kenton's  acquaintances  and  bosom 
friends  down  in  Sydney,  as  evidenced  by  his  conver- 
sation, did  not  do  him  credit.  Being  now  well 
warmed  up  by  the  whiskey,  he  proceeded  to  give 
instances.  He  said  that  Kenton  was  a  regular  pal 
of  the  doctor  who  had  been  mixed  up  in  that  dis- 
reputable Ducane  divorce  (Cornwall  was  very  new 
to  the  island,  and  had  never  heard  Charmian's 
name),  that  the  doctor  had  died  lately,  and  Kenton 
had  been  with  him.  Somebody  kicked  Cornwall 
fiercely  on  the  shin  at  this,  but  Cornwall,  being  more 
than  half  intoxicated,  only  swore  at  him,  and  went 
on.  This  Kenton,  he  said,  had  told  him  a  queer 
thing.  The  doctor,  who  must  have  been  a  frightful 
blackguard — intemperate  fellow,  too,  they  said — had 
told  Kenton,  when  he  was  just  about  going,  that  the 
evidence  he  gave  in  the  divorce  case  was  false,  and 
the  whole  charge  a  lie.    Told  the  whole  thing,  how 

he  had What,   in  the  name  of  several  ugly 

things,  did  his  neighbour  (a  lean,  leather-faced 
miner,  in  a  flannel  shirt)  mean  by  digging  him,  a 
Government  officer,  in  the  ribs  like  that?  (This 
with  great  dignity.) 

•"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  the  miner  plainly. 
"  That  lady's  Mrs.  Ducane." 

The  doctor,  who   was   really  not  a  bad  young 


GUINEA  GOLD  197 

fellow,  being  in  truth  nothing  worse  than  an 
over-educated,  under-vitalised  slip  out  of  a  college 
nursery-garden,  not  yet  acclimatised  to  the  winds 
of  the  open  world — set  down  his  glass  confusedly 
and  begged  the  pardon  of  the  extremely  silent  and 
pale-faced  girl  who  was  standing  behind  the  counter. 
He  thought  she  looked  rather  sick,  and  wondered 
why. 

"  You  want  a — want  a — tonic,  my  dear,"  he  told 
her,  staring  at  her  glassy-eyed.  "  I'll  s-send  you 
down  some  stick-stick — some  sticknine  to-morrow. 
If  you're  Mrs.  Ducane,  my  dear,  got  good  news  for 
you." 

It  scarcely  seemed  possible  that  any  human  being 
should  turn  paler — yet  she  did. 

"  Good  news,"  repeated  the  doctor,  nodding  his 
head.  "  Kenton  says — Ducane  heard  all  about  it — 
most  awfully  cut  up — heard  you  were  here — Kenton 
told  him — he's  comin'  up  by  Matunga,  day  after  to- 
morrow. Bygones  be  bygones,  an'  have  another 
wedding — that's  what  he  says,  Kenton  says.  Wish 
you  luck.  You  let  me  sen'  that  sticknine?  Pretty 
girl  like  you  shouldn't  look " 

The  floor  was  concrete ;  the  bottle  that  Charmian 
had  been  holding  made  a  fearful  crash  as  it  fell,  and 
instantly  the  bar  was  filled  with  the  pungent  fumes 
of  (alleged)  green  Chartreuse.  She  did  not  even 
stop  to  pick  up  the  fragments.  She  made  two  steps 
to  the  door  at  the  back  of  the  bar  and  was  gone. 
No  one  saw  her  face  as  she  went. 


i98  GUINEA  GOLD 

Somebody  told  Figg  that  Mrs.  Ducane  was  taken 
ill,  and  the  landlord,  with  an  ill-grace,  left  his  after- 
dinner  nap  and  came  into  the  bar  himself.  More 
than  ever  he  was  resolved  to-night  that  the  Federal 
should  know  no  more  "  charity." 

Charmian,  alone  in  her  dark  little  bedroom,  where 
the  day-long  heat  from  the  iron  roof  and  walls  re- 
mained all  through  the  stifling  night,  was  lying  face 
down  on  her  bed,  praying  God  to  let  her  die  to- 
morrow. 

In  the  strange  little  island  town  of  Samarai,  the 
expression  of  every  human  feeling  is  strictly  regu- 
lated by  geographical  conditions. 

When  you  are  in  love,  you  walk  round  the  island. 
You  walk  round  it  always,  because  this  is  the  only 
available  form  of  athletic  exercise,  but  love  makes 
you  walk  round  it  a  great  deal  more  than  usual, 
partly  because  love  is  restless,  and  partly  because 
you  have  always  a  chance  of  finding  the  beloved  ob- 
ject somewhere  on  the  circular  track.  When  you 
are  very  much  in  love  you  walk  round  it  in  the  moon- 
light, and  sit  on  the  seat  below  the  powder  maga- 
zine— not  alone.  If  your  love  takes  the  regrettable 
form  of  a  passion  for  one  who  is  already  "  an- 
other's," you  entice  your  Helen  out  boating  to  the 
quarantine  island,  and  get  sociably  seasick  in  her 
company,  while  Menelaus,  jealously  surveying  you 
with  an  opera-glass  from  the  Government  jetty, 
gloats  over  your  agony.    When  you  marry,  you  go 


GUINEA  GOLD  199 

away  in  a  cutter,  the  bride's  white  veil  fluttering 
over  salt  green  water,  as  you  head  for  the  cocoanut 
plantation  down  the  coast  that  has  been  lent  you  for 
the  honeymoon.  When  you  die,  they  put  your  coffin 
in  a  whale-boat,  and  the  mourners  sit  all  round  it, 
cramping  their  legs  out  of  the  way,  and  you  are 
taken  to  the  cemetery  island  and  buried  there,  and 
the  mourners  go  back  in  the  boat  without  you,  to 
finish  their  mourning  in  the  bar  of  Bunn's  Hotel. 
And  when  you  are  in  trouble,  with  love  and  marriage 
and  death  and  money  and  misery  all  mixed  up  to- 
gether, like  the  ingredients  of  the  witches'  brew  in 
Macbeth,  you  must  inevitably  go  and  sit  on  the  top 
of  the  island,  because  that  is  the  only  spot  in  Samarai 
where,  among  the  palms  and  the  wet  long  grass,  and 
the  uncleared,  untracked  brushwood,  you  can  be 
reasonably  sure  of  a  chance  to  cry  unseen. 

On  the  day  before  the  Matunga  was  due  from 
Sydney,  via  "  ports,"  there  was  somebody  up  on  the 
top  of  the  island,  in  a  quiet  little  spot  where  no  casual 
passer-by  need  be  feared — a  place  where  the  palms 
were  young  and  small,  and  shut  off  all  the  splendid 
panorama  of  the  Straits,  with  their  low-swinging, 
criss-crossing  feathers  of  gold-green.  On  the  ground 
under  the  palms  sat  the  refugee  from  the  town,  her 
arms  clasped  about  her  knees,  her  head  on  her  arms, 
crying — crying — crying. 

It  was  Charmian's  way  of  meeting  the  emergencies 
of  life.  She  had  never  been  able  to  face  things,  or 
fight  things,  like  stronger  women — women  who  wore 


200  GUINEA  GOLD 

black  cashmere  skirts  and  white  blouses  and  flan- 
nelette petticoats,  who  did  their  hair  in  little  wal- 
nuts on  the  top  of  their  heads,  and  bargained  with 
the  butcher  and  the  milkman  in  loud,  firm  tones. 
Charmian  had  never  been  able  to  bargain,  or  to  make 
sensible  clothes  for  herself,  or  to  stand  firmly  upon 
flat-soled  boots,  and  defy  the  people  who  differed 
from  her.  She  wore  the  pretty  things  bought  for 
her  by  the  men  who  loved  her — with  a  sigh  for  an 
impossible  dream  of  pretty  things  bought  by  a  man 
she  might  love  herself:  she  gave  in  to  anyone  who 
spoke  in  a  bullying  tone :  she  did  what  she  was  told 
to  do,  whether  she  hated  it  or  not:  and  when  trou- 
ble came,  she  cried,  or  ran  away. 

Troubles  had  come  in  plenty  to  her  sad  little  life, 
and  now  they  were  gathering  again,  thick  as  the 
rainclouds  gather  of  a  north-west  afternoon,  in  the 
main  range  country  of  inland  Papua.  They  were 
worse  troubles  than  ever  this  time.  Figg  had  dis- 
charged her:  Scott  was  away  in  the  un-get-at-able 
interior:  Grant,  hateful  Grant,  was  coming  up  by 
the  Matunga  to-morrow  to  find  and  claim  her  again 
— after  all  that  had  passed — after  all  that  she  had 
paid  for  her  wretched  little  freedom ! — and  worst  of 
all,  she  could  not  run  away.  How  could  one  run 
away  from  an  island?  where  to  run  to,  if  one  could, 
in  this  terrible  country  that  was  a  mere  welter  of 
jungle,  river,  mountain,  and  marsh,  inhabited  by 
man-eating  fiends  and  hungry  alligators? 

Remained  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  Charmian  was 


GUINEA  GOLD  201 

doing  it,  bitterly,  despairingly,  soaking  her  hand- 
kerchief through,  and  spotting  her  dress,  wishing, 
amidst  the  gusts  of  her  misery,  that  she  had  only 
courage  to  go  out  to  the  end  of  the  Government 
jetty,  where  the  water  was  deep  and  green,  and 
finish  it  all  with  one  little  jump  into  oblivion.  .    .    . 

"  I  do  think  I  could,  if  it  were  only  drowning," 
she  sobbed  into  her  wet  muslin  knees.  "  But  those 
horrible  sharks.  .  .  .  Oh,  if  God  would  just  let  me 
die,  any  time  before  to-morrow !  He  knows  I've  got 
to  die  some  time — what  can  it  matter  to  Him  whether 
it's  now,  or  in  forty  years?  and  it  matters  such  a  lot 
to  me.  I  can't,  can't,  go  back  to  Grant — and  yet  I 
know  he  will  make  me:  he  always  made  me  do 
everything  he  said.  And  what  is  there  to  stop  him? 
Oh,  if  I'd  only  married  again — anyone,  anyone!  it 
would  not  have  mattered  whom,  so  long  as  it  wasn't 
him.  If  George  were  here  he'd  help  me.  He  would- 
n't let  Grant  have  me  again,  he's  so  strong — and 
brave — and  good.    Oh,  George!  " 

The  vision  of  Scott  rose  up  before  her,  clear  as  a 
"  living  picture  "  in  a  cinematograph — the  tall,  big- 
boned  figure  with  its  slight  stoop,  the  grey  Irish  eyes 
that  were  so  kind  and  so  pure:  the  smile,  like  sun- 
shine of  the  North,  bright,  yet  almost  cold.  .  .  . 
Behind  it,  overlapping  it,  driving  it  out,  came  another 
face — gross,  red-skinned,  shiny  with  high  living — a 
face  with  murky,  fiery  eyes,  with  thick  lips,  half  shut 
over  cruel  teeth,  with  black  and  grey  hair  growing 
low  on  the  low  forehead,  and  a  heavy  neck  and  chin 


202  GUINEA  GOLD 

that  rose  in  waves  behind  the  fine,  smart  collar  and 
costly  tie.'.  .  .  The  features  were  well-marked  and 
regular:  the  figure  of  the  man  was  good,  though 
over-stout.  There  were  many  women  who  called 
Grant  Ducane  a  handsome  fellow.  There  was  one 
to  whom  his  face  and  himself  were  as  the  face  and 
self  of  Satan — mid- Victorian,  Calvinistic  Satan,  with 
horns  and  hoofs  and  tail  and  the  flames  and  smoke 
of  hell  coming  up  out  of  the  dark  for  back- 
ground. .   .   . 

.  .  .  Charmian  had  done  crying.  She  was  lean- 
ing against  the  trunk  of  a  palm,  tired  out,  and  scarce 
able  to  see  with  her  swollen  eyes.  She  knew  she 
would  begin  again  by  and  by,  but  for  the  moment  the 
pendulum  had  swung  back.  Was  it  indeed  hopeless? 
Could  nothing — no  drop  of  comfort  or  hope — be 
squeezed  out  of  that  letter  of  Scott's  that  she  had 
carried  night  and  day  since  it  came?     "  Any  trouble 

— call  me — send  for  me "     He  meant  it,   she 

knew.  Most  men  didn't  mean  such  things  when  they 
said  them — they  were  only  trying  to  make  you  think 
they  were  to  be  trusted  when  they  were  not — but 
Scott  was  of  another  kind. 

Yet — how  to  send,  when  there  was  no  time?  when 
Grant  would  have  come,  and  made  his  hateful  ex- 
planations, and  asked  for  the  pardon  that  he  did  not 
deserve,  and  forced  her  to  give  it,  and  taken  her 
away  again  to  the  old  detestable  life  in  England  or 
somewhere  far  away — long,  long  before  a  letter 
could  even  reach  the  place  where  George  had  gone  ? 


GUINEA  GOLD  203 

Charmian  pressed  her  hands  tightly  together,  and 
braced  her  body  back  against  the  tree  as  she  sat. 
She  would  think.  She  would  plan.  There  must  be 
a  way.  A  clever  person  would  have  found  one  out. 
Well,  she  had  got  to  be  clever — or  else  she  had 
got  to  be  brave  enough  to  face  the  Government  jetty 
— to-night,  under  the  stars,  when  the  town  was 
asleep.   .    .    . 

"  I  will  be  clever,"  said  Charmian,  wiping  her  eyes 
and  setting  tight  her  soft  mouth.  "  I  will.  Please, 
God,  make  me  clever — make  me  think  of  some- 
thing! " 

There  was  much  of  the  child  in  Charmian.  She 
closed  her  eyes  and  put  her  hands  together,  palm  to 
palm,  as  she  prayed  her  odd  little  prayer — just  as 
she  had  done  when  she  was  three  years  old.  She 
opened  her  eyes  and  unclasped  her  hands  when  she 
had  finished — and  there  was  a  tall,  strange  woman 
climbing  up  the  side  of  the  hill. 

The  woman  was  not  young,  and  she  came  slowly, 
with  heavy,  audible  breathing.  When  she  had 
reached  the  top,  she  looked  about  her;  saw  Charmian 
sitting  under  the  palm,  and  walked  straight  up  to 
her,  with  an  air  of  decision  and  command  that  sat 
upon  her  as  naturally  as  the  fine  crown  of  yellow- 
grey  locks  under  her  black  shade-hat. 

"  Get  up  at  once,"  she  said.  .  .  .  "  It's  been  rain- 
ing all  night,  and  you'll  catch  your  death." 

Charmian  rose  to  her  feet,  because  she  usually 
did  what  she  was  told. 


204  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  No  such  luck,"  she  said,  with  a  quiver  in  her 
voice. 

"  That's  naughty  talk,"  said  the  tall  woman  re- 
provingly. "  I'm  afraid  you're  a  naughty  girl  alto- 
gether, to  sit  crying  up  here  in  the  wet  grass,  and 
then  say  you  want  to  catch  your  death.  When  a 
girl  behaves  in  such  a  silly  way  it's  generally  because 
she's  been  getting  into  mischief.  Bless  you,  I  know 
girls:  I've  got  six  daughters  of  my  own;  and  if  I'd 
ever  caught  one  of  them  behaving  so  foolishly,  I'd 
have  taken  her  home  and  spanked  her!  Look  at 
your  dress — tut,  tut !  And  you've  been  crying  fit  to 
make  yourself  sick.    What  do  you  mean  by  it?  " 

The  tall  woman  stood  above  her,  extremely  erect, 
and  shook  her  slightly  by  the  shoulder,  like  a  nurse 
remonstrating  with  a  wilful  child. 

Charmian,  her  breast  still  heaving  with  the  ground- 
swell  of  the  storm  that  had  passed,  her  mouth  half 
trembling,  half  laughing,  felt  suddenly  and  inexplic- 
ably safe.  Had  the  stranger  caressed  her  and  purred 
over  her,  after  the  usual  fashion  of  women  consoling 
each  other,  she  would  have  submitted,  escaped  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  gone  back  to  her  miserable 
problem  unmoved.  Caressing  and  purring  was  the 
way  of  women,  in  Charmian's  experience:  also 
scratching — one  mattered  as  little  as  the  other. 

But  this  stranger,  with  the  six  feet  of  almost 
masculine  strength,  and  the  manner  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, shook  her  and  scolded  her  .  .  .  and  immedi- 
ately the  lost  and  terrified  feeling  began  to  slip  away. 


GUINEA  GOLD  205 

There  was  safety  and  help  somewhere  in  the  world, 
after  all. 

She  turned  her  eyes  on  the  woman — Charmian's 
beautiful  eyes,  with  the  innocent  soul  looking  out  of 
their  sad  depths  like  snow-white  Undine  from  her 
troubled  pool — and  fixed  a  steadily  inquiring  gaze 
upon  the  strange  new  friend.  It  was  someone  she 
had  never  seen  before — of  that  she  was  certain. 
Who  could  forget  such  a  personality? 

She  had  not  to  wonder  long. 

"  I'm  Mrs.  Carter,"  said  the  woman,  still  keeping 
hold  of  her  shoulder.  "  Came  in  from  my  island 
to-day,  and  going  up  to  my  store  at  the  Kikiramu 
to-night.    And  who  are  you,  you  silly,  naughty  girl  ?  " 

Charmian's  eyes  brightened:  she  knew  all  about 
Mrs.  Carter — who  in  Papua  did  not?  The  Queen 
of  North-West  Island,  she  was  called :  and  if  half  the 
tales  told  about  her  were  true,  she  fully  deserved 
the  name.  Twenty  years  before,  when  New  Guinea 
knew  neither  law  nor  order,  and  every  man  who 
landed  on  its  inhospitable  shores  went  with  his  life 
in  his  hand  night  and  day,  Mrs.  Carter  had  come 
to  North-West  Island  and  taken  possession  of  it. 
There  was  gold  there  in  those  days,  gold  long  since 
worked  out.  Mrs.  Carter  had  kept  a  store  for  the 
diggers,  nursed  them  when  they  were  ill,  traded  with 
them  when  they  were  well;  mothered  them,  advised 
them,  kept  them  in  order — with  rifle  and  revolver 
sometimes,  in  the  days  when  the  scum  of  Sydney 
and  Melbourne  gutters  streamed  into  the  far-away 


206  GUINEA  GOLD 

island,  to  try  its  luck  digging  or  fleecing  the  diggers, 
as  might  seem  easiest.  When  the  diggers  went,  she 
cleared  and  planted  her  land,  built  a  handsome 
house,  and  ruled  the  native  population  of  the  place 
as  never  a  resident  magistrate,  with  police  and 
Government  to  back  him,  ruled  elsewhere  in  Papua. 
In  North-West  Island  alone  the  natives  were  clean, 
orderly,  peaceable,  and  industrious,  cultivating  their 
land  without  quarrels,  and  gathering  up  the  small 
remains  of  the  gold  from  the  worked-out  diggings, 
year  after  year,  to  purchase  luxuries  for  themselves 
and  their  families  from  Mrs.  Carter's  store.  While 
over  almost  all  the  mainland,  and  the  neighbouring 
islands,  cannibalism,  murder,  and  tribal  warfare 
flourished  unchecked. 

She  had  even  wiped  out  the  native  language  of  the 
place,  or  at  least  made  it  bi-lingual,  for  every  North- 
West  Islander  spoke  good  English:  and  this  excel- 
lent deed,  in  a  land  of  Tower-of-Babel  confusions, 
she  had  accomplished  by  means  of  a  process  that  left 
Ollendorff,  Gouin,  and  the  inventors  of  Esperanto 
hopelessly  in  the  shade.  She  had  enclosed  her  house 
and  grounds  with  a  palisade,  within  which  no  word 
of  the  island  language  might  be  spoken,  under  pain 
of  immediate  and  violent  expulsion.  It  did  not  mat- 
ter whether  the  offender  had  had  any  opportunity  of 
learning  English  or  not — like  Nature  herself,  Mrs. 
Carter  heard  no  excuses,  listened  to  no  pleadings. 
Out  the  speaker  of  alien  tongues  must  go — away 
from  the  store  where  all  the  treasures  dear  to  the 


GUINEA  GOLD  207 

native  heart  were  kept,  and  from  the  big  backyard 
where  the  Queen,  from  time  to  time,  gave  royal 
feasts  to  all  the  natives  she  employed  and  many  be- 
sides. No  shopping,  no  feasting,  no  looking  at  the 
wonders  of  the  house  and  verandah,  and  the  aston- 
ishing children  with  white  faces  and  straight  yellow 
hair — nothing  that  made  life  worth  living  on  North- 
West  Island  unless  one  learned  the  tongue  of  the 
Queen  .  .  .  the  giant  white  woman  who  could  shoot 
a  bird  flying  high  in  air  with  either  rifle  or  revolver, 
who  laid  it  on  to  erring  subjects  with  a  big  stick  in 
a  mighty  hand,  and  whose  husband,  wonderful  to 
see,  was  among  the  very  humblest  of  her  slaves.  .  .  . 
They  learned  to  talk  English,  or  North-West,  and 
they  learned  it  quick. 

Mrs.  Carter's  sons  were  grown  up  and  gone  away, 
all  to  Australia.  They  said,  in  their  simple  way, 
that  New  Guinea  seemed  too  crowded  for  them, 
somehow,  when  they  and  mother  were  in  it  together : 
so  they  went  south  to  the  Northern  Territory,  and 
became  drovers  of  cattle  (it  takes  men  to  drive  cattle 
in  the  Never-Never  country  of  the  North)  and 
southward  still,  to  West  Australia  and  the  goldfields, 
and  away  in  pearling  luggers  along  the  burning 
coral  coasts  to  Thursday  Island,  and  to  Broome. 
Mrs.  Carter's  daughters  were  married  to  various 
New  Guinea  traders  and  officials.  Remained,  Mrs. 
Carter's  husband,  a  useful  man  to  the  Queen,  and 
invaluable  as  a  manager  of  her  store  on  the  Kikiramu 
goldfield.     She  visited  the  store  now  and  then;  but, 


2o8  GUINEA  GOLD 

for  the  most  part,  in  her  kingdom  of  North-West 
Island,  or  in  her  trading-stations  here  and  there 
about  the  coast,  or  in  her  allamanda-  and  bougain- 
villaea-covered cottage  at  Samarai,  she  was  well  con- 
tent to  reign  alone. 

All  this  Charmian  had  heard,  and  she  looked  at 
the  tall  woman  with  suddenly   awakened  interest. 
Mrs.  Carter  was  certainly  like  Queen  Elizabeth — 
very  like.     The  arched,  commanding  nose,  the  de- 
termined mouth  and  pointed  chin,  the  heavy  eyelids 
and  bright  brown,  gem-hard  eyes  were  all  Eliza- 
bethan.   So  was  the  mass  of  wavy  yellow-grey  hair 
above  the  high  forehead:  so  was  the  poise  of  the 
head:  so  were  the  long  thin  hands.    These  last  were 
work-worn    and  hardened,    for    Mrs.    Carter    had 
handled  broom  and  frying-pan,  pick,  oar,  and  bul- 
lock-whip, in  her  day,  doing  the  work  of  woman  or 
man,  or  both  together,  as  circumstances  seemed  to 
need :  but  they  showed  innate  refinement,  and  power 
of  command,  to  any  eye  trained  in  the  spelling  out 
of  bodily  signs.    Her  dress  was  made  after  a  fashion 
of  her  own,  suggestive  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
Where  other  women  of  Samarai,  old  and  young,m 
wore  the  inevitable  dark  cotton  wrapper  of  a  morn- 
ing, and  the  inescapable  coarse  white  muslin,  with 
ugly  lace  trimmings,  of  an  afternoon,  Mrs.  Carter 
was  always  seen  in  stately  trained  robes,  made  with 
the  sacque  pleat  of  Boucher  and  Watteau,  and  meet- 
ing the   sun's   fierce   stare  with   soft  reflections   of 
heliotrope,  gauzy  black,  or  cloudy  grey.    She  wore 


GUINEA  GOLD  209 

a  hat  that  sat  like  a  shady  crown :  she  carried  a  fan, 
for  the  most  part,  and  held  it  like  a  sceptre. 

It  was  with  this  fan  that  she  now  tapped  Char- 
mian's  shoulder,  a. trifle  impatiently,  repeating  her 
question — 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  you  naughty  girl,  and 
what's  your  name?  " 

That  name!  Charmian  felt  like  a  leper  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  forced  by  law  to  carry  a  bell,  and  ring 
it  to  tell  the  unspotted  people  here  and  there  that  he 
carried  with  him  a  curse.  .  .  .  She  must  take  up 
her  bell  and  ring  it.    .    .    . 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Ducane,"  she  said. 

It  came — the  inevitable  surprise  and  dismay:  the 
inevitable  chill  in  the  friendly  eyes.     Then 

"  Why,  why,  I've  been  hearing — they  say  the  story 
wasn't  true — they  say  the  man  confessed  when  he 
was  dying  ..." 

The  eyes  warmed  up  again :  the  fan  ceased  tapping 
her  shoulder,  and  a  hand  took  its  place. 

"  Now  aren't  you  really  a  very,  very  naughty  girl, 
to  be  up  here  crying  and  talking  of  getting  your 
death,  when  all  that  trouble's  blowing  over  for  you, 
after  all?  Of  course  I  heard  about  it.  Everybody 
did.  But,  bless  you,  my  good  girl,  I  think  I  would- 
n't have  believed  it  anyhow — after  a  look  at  you — 
even  if  this  news  hadn't  come.  You  haven't  kick 
enough  in  you  to  serve  any  man  out  like  that — or  to 
serve  him  out  in  any  way  at  all.  One  hears  he  didn't 
treat  you  too  well.    Your  own  fault,  I'll  lay.    You're 


210  GUINEA  GOLD 

not  the  girl  to  keep  your  end  up.  Put  them  down, 
keep  them  down,  my  dear — that's  the  only  way  to 
manage  the  men.  I  hear  he's  coming  to  take  you 
back:  very  right  and  proper  of  him  too,  but  mind 
you  put  your  foot  on  his  neck  this  time  and  keep  it 
there." 

Mrs.  Carter  beat  her  own  handsome  foot  on  the 
earth,  and  ground  it  down  as  though  the  neck  of  the 
despised  sex  were  indeed  beneath  the  sole  of  her 
Sydney  shoe. 

"  Put  them  down,"  she  said  again,  with  a  flush  on 
her  faded  cheek:  and  the  thoughts  in  her  eyes  were 
not  of  Charmian  at  that  moment. 

The  girl,  mopping  her  wet  face  and  her  small 
pink  nose  with  her  wet  handkerchief,  looked  up. 

"  I'd  rather  die  in  the  bush  and  be  eaten  by  meat- 
ants  than  ever  see  his  face  again,"  she  said:  and 
there  was  a  driving  force  behind  her  words  that  made 
the  woman  look  at  her  narrowly,  as  at  something  she 
did  not  quite  understand. 

"  Tut,  tut!  "  she  said,  after  a  minute.  "  A  mar- 
ried woman's  best  to  keep  on  terms  with  her  hus- 
band. What  can  most  of  you  do?  You've  got  to 
give  in,  or  starve.  Make  him  pay  for  all  he's  done — 
it  was  mostly  the  fault  of  the  other  man,  wasn't  it? 
— make  him  pay  well,  and  take  him  back." 

Charmian  did  not  answer,  but  her  face  grew  white. 

So  this  refuge  too  was  failing  her! 

She  turned  from  Mrs.  Carter  with  a  sudden  move- 
ment, and  looked  down  upon  the  sea  below — down 


GUINEA  GOLD  211 

upon  the  Government  jetty,  where  the  water  was 
deep  and  green,  close  inshore. 

Something  pricked  Mrs.  Carter's  heart  quick  and 
keen.  Something  came  back  to  her,  at  that  look, 
which  would  have  meant  nothing  at  all  to  ninety-nine 
women  in  a  hundred.  As  one  might  see  a  world  of 
rocks  and  precipices,  behind  a  veil  of  driven  cloud 
lifted  for  a  moment  by  the  wind,  she  saw  a  vision  of 
Charmian's  little  figure  standing  on  the  steps  of  the 
jetty,  hands  out  to  the  water.  ...  A  girl  had  stood 
like  that,  on  the  rocks  that  border  the  deep  green 
waters  of  the  Gulf  of  Carpentaria — a  girl  with 
brown  eyes  and  yellow-red  hair  and  a  plain  gold  ring 
on  her  hand — a  tall,  big  girl  with  a  heart  as  big  as 
herself:  too  big  for  the  keeping  of  little  Tim  Carter 
...  in  Queensland,  thirty  years  ago.  There  had 
been  times  since  then  when  the  Queen  of  North- 
West  had  wondered  why  the  girl  had  turned  back 
to  the  land.  If  there  had  been  times  when  she  wished 
the  girl  had  not,  she  never  told  herself. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  under  the  palms, 
and  then  Mrs.  Carter  took  Charmian  by  both  arms 
and  swung  her  round. 

"  Now,  look  here,"  she  said,  "  who's  the  other 
man?" 

14  George  Scott,"  said  Charmian,  paler  than  ever. 
44  He's  never — never — but  I'd  die,  ten  times  over, 
rather  than  go  back." 

"Then  what's  the  trouble?"  asked  the  big 
woman. 


212  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  Grant  will  make  me.  He  always  did.  Let  me 
go — please!  " 

u  I'll  do  no  such  thing.  You  only  want  to  go  off 
and  cry  again,  and  you  sha'n't  do  it.  I  can't  make 
head  or  tail  of  you  and  your  nonsense  unless  you  tell 
me  the  whole  thing  from  beginning  to  end.  I  see  I 
sha'n't  have  time  now  to  look  at  the  building  sites 
up  here  before  lunch,  so  I  may  just  as  well  give  it  up 
to  you.    Out  with  it,  miss !  " 

And  Charmian  told.  From  the  beginning  of  her 
marriage  through  to  its  disastrous  end,  and  down 
even  to  the  letter  that  she  carried  in  her  pocket,  she 
told  the  whole  story.  She  did  not  cry  any  more :  Mrs. 
Carter's  sharp  Elizabethan  eye  was  fixed  upon  her, 
and  she  was  afraid  to  let  the  tears  go,  under  that 
keen  scrutiny.  The  Queen  of  North-West  Island 
listened,  silently  and  critically,  and  did  not  say  a 
word  till  the  other  had  done.  Then  she  unfolded 
the  fan  with  a  sharp  jerk,  and  began  fanning  herself, 
rapidly  and  strongly. 

"  Why  doesn't  Scott  ask  you  to  marry  him?  "  she 
demanded. 

"  I  think — he  hasn't  any  money,  except  what  he 
wants  to  go  looking  for  gold  with.  And  there's 
something  else  too.  I  don't  know  what.  Sometimes 
I  think  there's  another  woman.  If  there  were,  I 
think  I'd  just  die." 

"  Oh,  pff !  you  make  too  much  yap  about  dying!  " 
said  the  pioneer  woman  contemptuously.  "  Does 
he  want  you,  that's  the  point?    Don't  put  on  school- 


GUINEA  GOLD  213 

girl  airs,  but  just  say,  does  he,  yes  or  no?  You're 
the  kind  they  all  want,  more  or  less — you  ought  to 
have  had  experience  enough  to  guide  you." 

"  Yes,  he  does,  then,"  answered  Charmian,  al- 
most defiantly.  "  I  do  know.  But  I  believe  in  my 
soul  there  is  another  woman." 

"  Why?"  snapped  Mrs.  Carter. 

"  Well — just — because." 

Mrs.  Carter,  being  a  woman  herself,  acknowl- 
edged the  weight  of  this  feminine  reason  sufficiently 
to  accept  it  in  silence.  She  bit  the  top  of  her  fan 
and  thought. 

"  There's  only  one  way  for  it  that  I  can  see,"  she 
proclaimed.  "  You're  just  what  you  say — the  sort 
that  would  allow  your  Grant  to  come  back  and  carry 
you  off  like  a  dingo  carrying  off  a  turkey,  with  hardly 
a  cheep  for  yourself.  Well,  the  Cora  Lynn  sails 
for  the  Kikiramu  at  nine  to-night,  and  there  won't 
be  another  thing  going  for  a  fortnight — unless  it's 
a  stray  cutter,  that  might  take  a  month  to  get  half- 
way, with  this  north-west  weather.  You  pack  up 
and  come  with  me  to  the  Kikiramu  field,  and  if  Scott's 
half  the  man  you  say  he  is,  he  and  the  Resident 
Magistrate  will  put  it  out  of  your  Grant's  power 
ever  to  worry  you  again,  inside  of  half  a  day." 

Charmian  turned  scarlet. 

"How  could  I?"  she  said. 

"  Now  don't  make  mouths,  missy:  you  know  you 
would  rather  go  there  than  anywhere  else  on  earth, 
and  you  needn't  feel  shy  about  it,  either — I'll  take 


214  GUINEA  GOLD 

you  as  my  visitor,  and  you  can  help  me  with  my  sew- 
ing at  the  store  as  long  as  you  like.  As  for  the 
other  woman,  why,  wherever  and  whoever  she  is, 
she  isn't  in  Papua,  and  better  a  living  dog  than  a 
dead  lion,  say  I.  It's  your  innings,  my  girl:  don't 
you  trouble  about  her." 

"  I  wasn't,"  said  Charmian  simply.  "  I  wish  she 
was  dead." 

"  You  and  your  dying !  Such  funeral  talk  I  never 
heard.  Wipe  your  eyes,  and  put  your  hair  tidy,  and 
come  down  with  me  to  the  town :  you'll  want  to  do 
some  shopping  first,  and  buy  sensible  boots  and  hats, 
and  I'll  see  you  do  it.  And  if  you're  one  minute  late 
when  the  steamer  whistle  sounds  to-night,  don't  think 
I'll  keep  her  for  you — I'll  leave  you  behind  for 
Grant.  Girls  like  you  are  never  punctual  or  tidy. 
I  know  the  lot  of  you !  " 

Like  a  collie  driving  a  lamb,  she  hustled  her  on 
to  the  pathway  and  down  the  long  hill  again. 

Many  people  saw  Figg's  barmaid,  who  was  under 
notice,  going  on  the  Cora  Lynn  in  the  starlight,  after 
dinner.  Half  the  town  was  going  on  to  the  vessel 
also,  to  gossip  and  to  see  off  friends.  But  nobody 
noticed  that,  when  the  clumsy  gang-plank  was  with- 
drawn, and  the  last  whistle  had  sounded,  the  shore- 
going  party  did  not  include  little  Charmian  Ducane. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Carter  conver- 
sationally, "  about  the  time  when  I  had  a  murderer 
chained  under  my  bed  for  six  weeks?  " 

11  No,  you  did  not,"  answered  Charmian,  looking 
up  at  her  hostess  with  a  slightly  startled  expression. 
She  had  not  become  quite  accustomed  to  Mrs.  Car- 
ter yet. 

The  two  women  were  sitting  on  the  verandah  of 
the  little  brown  mountain  house  where  Carter  kept 
store  for  the  Kikiramu  goldfield.  The  morning  was 
hot  and  clear.  There  was  not  a  shred  of  mist  in  the 
river-gorge,  or  on  the  great  drop-curtain  of  forest 
that  shut  off  the  unknown  inland  ranges.  Thirty  or 
forty  feet  below  the  verandah  rail  two  huge  sapphire 
butterflies  were  sporting  about  the  summit  of  a  tree: 
in  all  the  valley  there  was  not  another  sign  of  life, 
save  the  stray  columns  of  smoke  that  rose  here  and 
there  above  the  crests  of  the  leafy  sea,  each  marking, 
like  bubbles  from  a  diver's  helmet,  the  spot  where 
a  human  being  was  living  and  working  far  below,  hid 
from  the  light  of  day. 

Charmian  had  been  on  the  Kikiramu  field  for  some 
days  now,  and  the  wonderful  peace  of  the  bush  was 
beginning  to  flow  over  her  heart,  deep  and  still  as 
the  still  deep  forests  that  flow  over  the  inland  val- 

215 


216  GUINEA  GOLD 

leys  and  hills.  The  journey  had  been  very  rough  and 
hard,  even  though  Mrs.  Carter  cut  the  ordinary 
day's  marches  into  two,  and  saw  to  it  that  a  hammock 
was  always  ready  to  carry  Charmian,  whenever  the 
track  allowed.  But  the  woman  of  cities  and  draw- 
ing-rooms had  never  faltered  or  complained.  She 
only  wanted  to  get  away  from  Samarai  as  soon  and 
as  far  as  possible:  the  more  difficult  the  way,  the 
safer  she  felt  from  pursuit. 

Here,  in  the  heart  of  New  Guinea,  where  she 
could  look  up  her  position  on  the  map,  and  see  that 
the  little  store  lay  actually  over  the  edge  of  the 
known  country,  right  in  the  blank  white  space  beyond 
the  dotted  ends  of  guessed-at  rivers,  she  felt  that, 
for  the  present  at  least,  she  might  surely  call  her- 
self safe.  Grant  would  not  even  know  for  some  time 
where  she  had  gone.  Of  course  he  would  ferret  it 
out  in  the  end — the  Cora  Lynn  had  called  at  various 
plantations  down  the  coast,  and  the  news  of  her  being 
on  board  would  filter  back  at  last  to  Samarai.  But 
even  then  it  might  be  some  time  before  he  could 
find  any  means  of  reaching  the  west  end.  And  be- 
fore he  did — she  might  be  safe. 

She  thought  much  about  that,  lying  of  nights  in 
her  quaint  little  bird-cage  of  a  room,  above  the  tree- 
tops  of  the  gorge,  with  the  night-long  rain  of  the 
mountain  lands  roaring  down  upon  the  sago-thatch 
roof,  and  the  unseen  river  rumbling  away  below. 

She  realised  that  most  people  would  be  on  her 
husband's  side — would  say  that  the  wrong  which  had 


GUINEA  GOLD  217 

been  done  her  could  only  be  righted  in  full  by  a  re- 
marriage, and  that  her  reputation  could  be  restored 
in  no  other  way.  Ducane,  it  appeared,  was  very 
penitent.  The  man  who  had  caused  the  trouble,  who 
had  lied  and  perjured  himself,  and  bought  false  wit- 
nesses, was  dead — having  confessed  his  infamy  in 
the  very  hour  of  death.  No  doubt  the  public  knew. 
No  doubt  they  would  look  for  a  reconciliation.  Less 
than  no  doubt  Ducane  would  want  it  and  have  it — 
if  she  could  not  make  herself  safe. 

.  .  .  Arguments,  defiances,  objections — what  were 
they?  They  could  not  help.  Against  every  argu- 
ment of  hers  he  could  bring  a  dozen.  Against  her 
little  straw  of  defiance  he  could  sweep  the  flame  of 
the  overruling  will  that  she  had  known  and  suffered 
under  all  her  life.  .  .  .  No,  words  were  not  to  be 
trusted. 

But  facts?  Facts  fought  for  you.  You  could  hide 
behind  their  shield,  and  say  no  word  at  all.  Before 
the  fact  of  another  marriage,  argument,  entreaty, 
command  must  die  on  the  lips  that  spoke  them. 

kThe  words  of  Scott's  letter  flamed  before  her  in 
the  darkness  of  the  nights. 

"  Any  trouble  you  are  in  .  .  .  send  for  me  .  .  . 
I  would  do  anything  in  the  world  to  be  of  help  to 
you.  ...  I  cannot  say  all  that  I  would  wish.  .  .  . 
1  am  always  yours.  .  .  ." 

The  woman  who  had  been  loved  of  men  since  her 
childhood  could  make  no  mistake  as  to  the  meaning 


2i8  GUINEA  GOLD 

of  such  words,  though  they  stopped  short  of  those 
three  words  that  had  been  worth  all  the  rest. 

One  could  wait  here  .  .  .  there  was  no  harm  in 
that.  One  could  help  Mrs.  Carter  with  her  sewing, 
and  see  the  strange  life  of  the  goldfield,  and  listen 
for  every  word  that  bore  upon  the  return  of  the  men 
who  had  gone  to  look  for  gold  .    .    .   and  hope. 

Carter  thought  the  party  would  run  out  of  tucker 
very  soon,  and  come  back.  He  didn't  think  that  they 
would  get  anything:  but  then,  they  might.  That 
stone-broke  fellow  who  had  come  up  from  Samarai 
last  boat  to  cook  for  him  had  been  quite  certain  there 
was  gold  up  the  Iri :  so  certain  that  he  had  bounced 
him,  Carter,  into  "  grubstaking  "  him  (provisioning 
him  on  credit)  and  helping  him  to  get  a  few 
boys. 

Of  course  if  they  did  get  anything,  the  Kikiramu 
would  be  deserted  straight  away.  Meantime,  Carter 
thought  it  a  good  thing  his  wife  had  brought  a  visitor 
up  with  her:  it  was  lonely  for  her  when  she  came,  as 
a  rule,  being  the  only  woman  on  the  field.  And  if 
Mrs.  Ducane  liked,  he'd  be  glad  to  take  her  a  walk 
about,  and  show  her  some  of  the  claims,  whenever 
she  chose. 

Charmian  went  out  under  his  guidance  here  and 
there,  down  the  giant  staircase,  through  the  riverbed, 
from  one  dim  isolated  camp  in  the  wilderness  to 
another,  seeing  the  black  boys  at  work,  lunching  in 
"  bushes  "  on  tinned  foods  and  biscuits,  talking  with 
the  strange,  silent,  bearded  men  who  won  the  gold, 


GUINEA  GOLD  219 

and  refusing,  with  difficulty,  presents  enough  of  their 
gainings  to  have  stocked  a  small  jeweller's  store. 
For  months  after,  in  many  a  lonely  camp  and  clear- 
ing, her  visits  were  remembered  and  talked  over, 
and  her  beautiful,  sad,  sweet  face  (in  which  the  sun- 
shine of  peace  began  to  dawn  these  days)  floated 
among  the  stars  of  midnight  before  the  eyes  of  soli- 
tary men,  who  sat  awake  among  their  sleeping 
"  boys/'  with  only  the  dying  fire  for  company.  No 
one  thought  it  strange  that  she  should  have  come  to 
stay  in  that  remote  fastness.  They  said,  "  their 
oath,  it  was  a  shame  and  a  waste  ";  but  they  them- 
selves had,  most  of  them,  more  or  less  secret  reasons 
for  choosing  to  live  beyond  hail  of  civilisation,  and 
they  asked  no  questions  of  Charmian,  as  they  asked 
none  of  one  another. 

So,  on  that  hot  still  morning,  with  the  jewelled 
butterflies  floating  in  the  sun  outside,  and  unseen 
birds  of  paradise  sending  long  calls  from  the  bush, 
Charmian  sat  on  Mrs.  Carter's  verandah  and  listened 
to  the  pioneer  woman's  tales. 

"  It  was  a  good  few  years  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Carter, 
biting  off  her  thread.  "  My  husband  had  gone  down 
to  Queensland  to  see  about  buying  some  cattle,  and  I 
was  alone  on  North- West,  except  for  the  kiddies. 
The  natives  had  been  quiet  for  a  long  time,  but  just 
about  then,  one  of  the  fellows  from  the  far  end  of  the 
island,  where  they  were  pretty  wild,  started  lording 
it  over  the  rest  of  the  place,  killing  and  burning 
alive  and  eating  everyone  he'd  a  fancy  to.     Now, 


220  GUINEA  GOLD 

you  know,  that  made  me  mad,  for  I  thought  I  had 
both  ends  of  the  place  in  such  order  that  there  wasn't 
a  cheep  out  of  one  of  them — but  you  never  know 
these  natives.  Well,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  shift  my 
gentleman  out  of  that,  quick- and  lively,  and  I  took  a 
few  of  my  own  boys,  armed  with  Winchesters,  and 
a  bit  of  tucker,  and  my  little  mare  that  I'd  had  up 
from  Charters  Towers,  and  off  I  went  to  teach  the 
fellow  what  for." 

"  What  did  you  wear?"  asked  Charmian,  with 
interest. 

Mrs.  Carter,  being  quite  as  much  a  woman  as  her 
guest,  saw  nothing  remarkable  in  the  inquiry. 

"  Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you,"  she  said.  "  I  wore  a 
blue  denim  skirt,  made  very  short,  and  a  pair  of  my 
husband's  bluchers — he  has  a  very  small  foot,  and 
they  fitted  me.  And  I  had  a  red  Turkey  cotton 
blouse  on  my  back,  and  a  white  flannelette,  to  change, 
in  the  swag  the  boy  was  carrying.  And  I  had  a  navy 
blue  leather  belt,  with  a  black  leather  holster  on  it, 
and  a  45  Colt  in  the  holster.  And  I'd  a  ten-inch 
knife  in  a  black  sheath  at  the  other  side  of  the  belt. 
My  hat  was  a  big  Panama,  with  a  red  silk  scarf 
round  it,  and  I'd  a  navy  blue  tie." 

"  It  would  have  looked  better  if  your  holster  and 
knife-sheath  had  been  blue,"  said  Charmian  thought- 
fully. 

"  It  would,"  agreed  the  Queen  of  North-West 
Island,  "  but  they  don't  make  fancy  colours,  not  in 
revolver  holsters.    Well,  to  cut  a  long  story  short, 


GUINEA  GOLD  221 

I  and  the  boys  had  a  two-days'  hunt  before  we  got 
him;  and  even  when  we'd  found  him,  the  people  of 
the  village  were  that  afraid  of  him  that  they  would- 
n't give  him  up,  so  I  had  to  take  my  Colt  in  one 
hand  and  my  riding-whip  in  the  other — they  were 
about  the  same  afraid  of  the  two — and  hunt  through 
all  the  houses  till  I  got  him — hidden  away  under  a 
roll  of  mats,  if  you  please,  and  not  looking  a  bit 
like  the  devil  of  a  fellow  they  said  he  was,  with  all 
the  war-paint  running  in  streaks  over  his  face,  on 
account  of  the  heat  of  the  mats,  and  the  feathers  in 
his  hair  tumbling  out  and  smashed.  I  gave  him  a 
good  thrashing  on  the  spot,  just  to  teach  him  that 
I  would  have  no  cannibal  nonsense  going  on  in  my 
island,  and  then  I  tied  him  with  a  long  rope  to  my 
saddle,  and  made  him  follow  me  home — with  all  the 
natives  raising  a  howl  as  if  he  was  dead,  and  flinging 
themselves  down  on  the  ground,  and  cutting  their 
faces. 

"  Well,  when  I  got  him  home,  there  was  the  diffi- 
culty. I  wanted  to  have  him  taken  away  to  Port 
Moresby  to  be  tried  and  hung,  but  I'd  had  prisoners 
before  waiting  for  the  Government  yacht,  and,  some- 
how or  another,  most  of  them  had  managed  to  get 
away — you  see,  the  natives  would  help  them,  being 
frightened  of  them  for  the  most  part,  and  anxious  to 
get  into  their  good  books — specially  if  they  were 
sorcerers.  He  was  a  bang-up  sorcerer,  this  gentle- 
man, and  I  was  sure  they'd  have  him  out  if  I  put  him 
in  any  of  the  stores.    So  I  just  took  him  down  under 


222  GUINEA  GOLD 

the  house,  and  ran  a  chain  from  his  waist  up  through 
the  floor  right  on  to  the  leg  of  my  bed  in  the  room 
above.  And  then  at  any  time  of  the  night,  if  they 
tried  to  get  the  chain  off  him,  I  was  bound  to  know : 
besides,  I  could  more  or  less  see  through  the  floor, 
it  being  sticks,  as  usual.  And  so  I  kept  him  there 
till  the  Merrie  England  called,  and  then  they  took 
him  off  to  gaol  in  Port  Moresby.  He  wasn't  hanged, 
but  he  got  ten  years,  and  died  before  two  were  out; 
and  the  natives  thought  the  Government  had  eaten 
him,  so  it  had  an  excellent  effect.  Indeed,  it  was 
the  last  case  of  cannibalism  that  happened  on  the 
island." 

Mrs.  Carter  took  another  needleful  of  thread. 

"  Would  you  have  feather-stitching  or  French 
knots  on  the  edge  of  the  collar?  "  she  asked  thought- 
fully. 

"  French  knots,  I  think,"  answered  Charmian. 
'  They're  very  smart  in  black.  .  .  .  Didn't  you  think 
they  might  have  eaten  you?  " 

"  No  fear:  I'd  like  to  have  caught  them  at  it!  " 
replied  Mrs.  Carter,  with  a  fine  disregard  of  physical 
possibilities.  "I'm  afraid  I  can't  do  the  French 
knots  right.     Can  you  manage  them?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  do  let  me.  I'll  embroider  it  all  over  for 
you,  if  you  like — any  kind  of  embroidery  you 
choose,"  offered  Charmian,  eager  to  help. 

"  Could  you?  "  asked  the  pioneer  woman  a  little 
wistfully.  "  And  you  can  speak  French,  and  play 
the  piano,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  I  reckon?  " 


GUINEA  GOLD  223 

"  Why,  yes,  but  I  don't  know  that  it  has  ever  done 
me  much  good." 

"  I  wish  I'd  had  more  education  myself,"  mused 
Mrs.  Carter,  looking  a  long  way  off  over  the  valley. 

"  Old  woman,"  said  the  shadowy  Carter,  suddenly 
popping  out  from  the  doorway  of  the  store,  "  don't 
you  wish  any  such  thing.  You're  that  clever  as  it  is 
that  no  one  would  want  to  see  you  more  so.  If  you'd 
had  education  on  the  top  of  it,  maybe  you'd  have 
been  in  gaol  by  now." 

"  And  I  daresay  that's  true,"  agreed  Mrs.  Carter 
composedly.  "  Mrs.  Ducane,  I  won't  ask  you  to 
embroider  it  all  over,  but  I  should  like  the  French 
knots,  if  you  think  you  could  manage  them.  I'm  glad 
to  see  you  picking  up  and  taking  your  tucker  these 
few  days.  You're  not  quite  as  silly  as  you  were  when 
I  first  ran  across  you.  If  I'd  the  handling  of  you'  a  bit 
longer  I'd  make  a  smart  sensible  girl  out  of  you  yet." 

"  She's  coming  round,"  Mrs.  Carter  told  her  hus- 
band that  night  as  they  were  going  through  the  store 
and  putting  out  the  lights.  M  My  word,  Tim,  you 
should  have  seen  her  dancing  to  herself  just  about 
sunset,  out  on  the  track,  when  she  thought  there  was 
nobody  about.  .  It's  a  way  she  has,  and  the  prettiest 
way  I  ever  saw.  She  picks  up  her  skirts,  and  she 
sings  a  little  bit,  and  she  floats  in  the  air,  or  it  looks 
near  like  that — just  like  a  flower  tossing  in  the 
wind.  You'd  think  she  didn't  know  she  was  doing  it, 
any  more  than  the  flower  itself.  I  declare  to  good- 
ness she  didn't  look  a  day  over  sixteen — and  she  all 


224  GUINEA  GOLD 

of  five-and-twenty.  Of  all  the  babies  to  be  a  mar- 
ried woman — but  there,  I  always  did  have  a  weak 
place  for  babies." 

"  She's  a  baby  could  do  mischief  whenever  there 
was  men  about,"  observed  Carter,  piling  his  mats  of 
rice  into  a  sturdy  bulwark.  "  The  men's  been  com- 
ing in  here  something  amazing  since  you  brought 
her — just  to  get  a  look  at  her  round  the  corner." 

"  I  daresay,"  said  the  Queen  contemptuously. 
"  Baby  faces  are  the  thing  to  fetch  you,  all  the  lot  of 
you,  like  sugar  fetches  flies.  And  whether  the  baby 
face  will  look  as  nice  to  you  across  the  top  of  a 
burnt  pie,  or  a  batch  of  bread  gone  sour,  is  a  thing 
you  never  think  about,  no  more  than  a  New  Guinea 
nigger  thinks  about  heaven.  Their  looks  have  to 
sweeten  their  cooking,  for  the  most  part." 

"  Well,  old  woman,  your  cooking  doesn't  need 
that  sweetening,"  remarked  Carter,  with  some  ob- 
scure intention  of  a  compliment. 

"  Pff !  "  said  the  Queen.  "  Don't  you  forget  to 
lock  that  door." 

It  was  very  hard  to  take  a  walk  at  the  Kikiramu. 

You  could  take  a  plunge,  or  a  dive,  or  a  climb — 
in  fact,  you  were  obliged  to  take  one  or  the  other  as 
soon  as  you  left  your  house.  You  could  let  yourself 
down  hundreds  of  feet  of  log  stairs,  hanging  back 
by  the  liana  hand-ropes,  until  you  got  into  a  dim 
green  wilderness  of  forest  and  riverbed,  and  broken- 
down  flumes,  and  abandoned  races:  and  then  you 


GUINEA  GOLD  225 

could  climb  and  wade  along  the  edges  of  the  river, 
unfil  you  got  wet  through,  and  had  to  go  home  for 
a  change.  Or  else  you  could  scramble  up  three  or 
four  hundred  feet  of  the  other  staircase — the  giant 
one,  with  the  steps  as  big  as  dinner-tables — and  get 
caught  in  a  sudden  thunderstorm  in  the  very  middle 
of  it,  with  no  more  possibility  of  crawling  away  in 
time  than  if  you  had  been  a  fly  in  a  treacle  plate. 
Or  you  could  cross  the  ridge  at  the  top  of  the  valley, 
climbing  slowly,  with  hands  and  feet,  and  immedi- 
ately take  a  header  down  the  other  side.  But  if 
you  wanted  a  walk,  it  was  hard  to  get. 

There  was  just  one  place  where  you  might  manage 
it.  After  you  climbed  the  great  staircase,  you  could 
find  a  piece  of  track  that  ran  for  a  little  way  along 
the  top  of  the  ridge  before  it  plunged  down  the  long 
six-hundred-foot  drop  that  tired  the  carriers  so,  when 
they  came  up  laden  from  the  lower  reaches  of  the 
river.  On  this  comparatively  level  bit  you  might 
walk  up  and  down,  like  a  captain  pacing  his  bridge, 
and,  like  the  captain,  look  about  you  and  see  all  over 
your  little  kingdom. 

And  here,  in  the  afternoons,  before  the  breaking 
up  of  the  four  o'clock  rains,  Charmian  used  to  walk 
alone,  up  and  down,  looking  into  the  depths  of  the 
formidable  forest,  and  thinking. 

Always  her  thoughts  went  one  way — Scott.  This 
little  creature,  made  for  love,  had  no  interests,  recol- 
lections, ambitions,  in  her  life,  save  those  that  were 
linked  to  love.    Love  light  and  amusing,  sugar-kiss 


226  GUINEA  GOLD 

flirtation — that  was  girlhood.  Love  tyrannical,  pos- 
sessive, selfish — that  was  marriage.  Love  treacher- 
ous, leading  to  perilous  swamps  by  the  lure  of  poison- 
sweet  flowers — that  was  romance.  And  all  these 
loves,  with  her,  had  been  love  accepted,  not  given. 
The  men  who  had  made  her  life  for  her  had  not 
asked  her  for  anything  but  acceptance. 

To  Scott  alone  she  had  given.  And  it  came  upon 
her  now  that  whatever  the  end  might  be,  this  free 
giving  of  hers  was  what  none  of  the  other  loves 
had  been — life  itself.  Loving  her  might  be  what  the 
other  men  had  lived  for — so  they  had  said,  more 
than  one  of  them.  But  no  one  had  wanted  to  know 
what  she  lived  for:  nor  did  she  know  herself — in 
the  time  that  was  past.     Now  she  knew. 

When  would  he  come  back? 

She  had  gone  up  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  one  after- 
noon, a  still,  scented  day,  with  a  purple-grey  sky  of 
brooding  heat.  She  had  spent  half  an  hour  at  her 
looking-glass  before  leaving  the  house,  as  she  al- 
ways did,  "  just  in  case  .    .    ." 

She  was  sure,  somehow  or  other,  that  he  would 
come  that  day,  and  she  waited  long,  bitterly  dis- 
appointed, till  it  was  almost  too  dark  to  get  down 
the  great  log  staircase  .   .   . 

And,  after  all,  he  came  that  night. 

Charmian  was  asleep  in  her  little  stick-walled 
bedroom,  "  papered  "  with  calico.  The  Carters  were 
asleep  in  their  lean-to  close  at  hand — a  curious  apart- 
ment walled  with  split  logs  and  floored  with  the  tops 


GUINEA  GOLD  227 

of  packing-cases.  The  native  carriers  attached  to 
the  store  were  asleep  in  their  shed  a  little  way  off: 
they  had  eaten  a  big  python,  an  iguana,  and  the 
best  part  of  a  wild  pig  for  supper,  and  lay  gorged 
and  stupid  about  the  fire  that  they  had  built  to  keep' 
off  ghosts.  The  rain  was  making  so  much  noise  that 
no  one  heard  the  approach  of  Scott  and  his  train 
until  the  verandah,  all  of  a  sudden,  shook  and  thun- 
dered under  the  tramp  of  an  army  of  bare  feet  and 
the  shock  of  twenty  loads  thrown  down.  Charmian, 
springing  half  out  of  bed  in  a  wild  alarm  of  Karivas, 
was  stopped  by  the  sound  of  Scott's  voice  loudly 
hailing  the  Carters,  and  the  answering  exclamation 
from  the  storekeeper's  room.  In  a  moment,  it 
seemed,  lights  were  flitting  everywhere,  wood  was 
being  chopped  in  the  cookhouse,  men  were  waking  on 
the  back  verandah  (where  the  spare  beds  were  put) 
and  jumping  up  with  loud  thuds,  dogs  were  barking, 
natives  and  whites  calling  to  each  other.  The  whole 
house  was  awake — not  only  awake,  but  excited. 
Surely  something  beyond  the  ordinary  return  of  an 
ordinary  party  had  happened ! 

Charmian,  barefooted  and  in  her  nightdress, 
slipped  over  to  the  wall  that  partitioned  her  room 
from  the  main  verandah,  tore  a  thread  or  two  of 
the  calico  screening,  and  peeped  though  the  sticks, 
her  heart  thumping  so  that  she  could  hardly  stand. 
The  verandah  was  full  of  men,  mostly  in  pyjamas, — 
Jacky  and  Jimmy  and  Harry  and  Mike,  bearded, 
strange-eyed  men  from  the  outer  camps,  who  had 


228  GUINEA  GOLD 

"come  in"  the  night  before:  another  visitor,  the 
resident  magistrate  and  warden,  an  angelic-looking 
young  man  with  curly  hair  and  a  sweet  smile,  who 
was  as  tough  as  pinwire,  and  about  as  hard:  Carter, 
bringing  whiskey  out  of  the  store,  and  setting  it  down 
on  the  log  table:  Mrs.  Carter,  stirring  round  after 
the  house-boys,  and  getting  plates  and  food  carried 
in  from  the  kitchen :  a  crowd  of  native  carriers,  lay- 
ing down  miscellaneous  bundles  of  tent-flies,  cook- 
ing pots,  sago,  sacks  of  food,  rifles,  and  shotguns, 
and  drifting  away  to  the  boys'  house  in  the  yard,  ab 
they  rid  themselves  of  their  loads.  The  dull  orange 
light  of  two  or  three  hurricane  lamps  fell  on  the  glit- 
tering bodies  of  the  carriers,  wet  with  rain,  on  the 
white  tooth  necklets  they  wore,  and  the  red  and  yel- 
low leaves  in  their  mountainous  hair.  The  white 
men's  striped  pyjama  suits  stood  out  gaily  against 
the  black  curtain  of  night  and  rain  beyond  the  veran- 
dah rail.  On  the  table,  pink  ham,  a  crusty  loaf,  a 
tin  of  butter,  lobster,  asparagus,  peaches,  and  other 
canned  luxuries  from  the  store,  were  rapidly  sur- 
rounding the  bottles,  glasses,  and  cups.  It  looked 
as  though  the  Carters  were  minded  to  make  a  feast. 

All  this  Charmian  saw  with  half  an  eye,  in  half  a 
second.  Almost  instantly  her  glance  swept  on  to  the 
central  figure  in  the  strange,  uncivilised  scene — Scott. 

He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  whites,  leaning  up 
against  the  verandah  rail  as  though  he  were  tired 
with  the  day's  tramp,  and  patiently  answering  the 
showers  of  excited  questions  cast  at  him  by  everyone 


GUINEA  GOLD  229 

who  could  get  in  a  word.  She  could  not  hear  what 
they  were  saying,  because  of  the  noise  of  the  rain, 
but  she  could  see  that  something  had  happened,  and 
that  Scott  was  telling  about  it:  also,  that  he  was 
fagged  out,  and  wanted  rest  and  food,  and  the  other 
men  would  not  let  him  have  either.  She  burned  with 
rage  and  pity — what  brutes  men  were  to  each  other ! 

Standing  there  in  her  nightdress,  with  the  wet 
warm  wind  blowing  through  the  chinks  of  the  crazy 
wall,  she  took  her  fill  of  gazing.  .  .  .  He  was 
changed.  He  had  grown  older  and  graver,  even  in 
those  few  weeks — so  quickly  does  the  Land  of  Mys- 
tery set  her  seal  on  those  who  serve  her.  But  the 
bright,  cool  sunshine  of  his  eyes  and  smile — the 
sunshine  of  that  far  Northland  that  she  had  never 
known — was  the  same. 

She  found  herself  seeking  for  words  to  clothe  a 
thought  that  floated  before  her,  naked,  dim,  elusive. 
She  had  never  been  good  at  handling  and  clothing 
ideas,  though  her  active  brain  brought  forth  its  full 
share.  People  had  not  asked  her  to  have  ideas,  or 
to  express  them.  They  had  asked  her  to  be  pretty 
and  charming,  no  more. 

And  now  she  was  trying  to  be  more,  and  she 
could  not. 

The  idea  was  one  of  importance:  she  knew  that. 
She  stretched  out  at  its  flying  wings  with  the  fingers 
of  her  mind,  frowning  as  she  thought,  and  still 
looking  through  the  chinks  at  Scott. 

.  .  .  The  love  of  the  North.  .  .  .  The  love  of  the 


230  GUINEA  GOLD 

South.  .  .  .  Dark  and  true  and  tender  is  the  North, 
and  bright  and  fierce  and  fickle  is  the  .    .    . 

"  No — oh  no!  "  said  little  Charmian,  her  lip  be- 
ginning to  quiver.  "  .  .  .  Fickle  is  the  South — no 
— if  I  only  were! 

"  There's  something  I'm  afraid  of  in  his  face," 
was  what  she  sobbed  to  herself  at  last.  "  I  could  do 
anything  with  poor  Rupert.     And  Scott  loves  me 

far  more,  but  with  him There  are  men  who 

would  break  your  heart  and  their  own  just  as  they'd 
break  a  thread — a  leaf — I  can't  say  it,  but  I  know 
what  I  mean. 

"  I've  been  saying  all  my  life  that  men  are  too 
bad,"  she  told  herself,  "  and  now  there's  one  who's 
too — too — good. 

"  But  I'm  thinking  such  nonsense,"  she  said.  "  I 
don't  know  what  I  mean  myself.  And  I  must  hurry 
up  and  dress  at  once.  Oh,  I  wonder  would  it  be 
wicked  to  pray  that  I  may  do  my  hair  really  well? 

"  At  any  rate,"  she  said,  "  it  would  do  no  harm. 
I'll  pray  God  to  make  me  look  very,  very  pretty 
indeed:  that'll  include  the  hair." 

She  prayed  rapidly  and  inclusively  while  she 
dressed,  not  forgetting,  all  the  same,  to  "  keep  her 
powder  dry  "  so  far  as  to  select  her  prettiest  blouse, 
and  her  long  Sydney  riding-boots,  because  they 
looked  so  well  under  the  brief  skirts  one  had  to  wear 
at  the  Kikiramu.  The  trade  glass  on  the  wall  gave 
back  a  gratifying  reflection  by  the  light  of  the  hur- 
ricane lamp. 


GUINEA  GOLD  231 

"  Thanks  very  much,  O  Lord,"  she  said.  "  I 
don't  think  I  ever  looked  nicer  .  .  .  if  I  weren't  so 
pale." 

There  was  a  little  pot  of  rose-red  powder  in  her 
trunk.  She  took  it  out,  looked  at  it  thoughtfully, 
then  put  it  back. 

"  I  won't,"  she  decided.  "  He  would  think  it  hor- 
rible if  he  knew  "  (he  in  this  case  meaning  Scott, 
not  the  Almighty).  "And,  anyhow,  rouge  is  only 
for  women  who  are  wicked,  or  women  who  are 
dreadfully  miserable,  and  want  to  hide  it.  It's  really 
bad  to  put  it  on  for  mere  becomingness,  and  I  never 
did,  so  back  it  goes." 

Nature,  waiting  with  the  rose  of  life  in  her  hand, 
out  there  on  the  verandah,  invisible,  but  strong, 
touched  the  cheeks  of  the  girl  with  the  petals  of  the 
immortal  flower  as  she  came  into  full  view  of  her 
lover,  and  Charmian,  feeling  her  own  beauty  run 
through  her  veins  like  wine,  knew  that  no  rouge  was 
needed. 

So,  like  a  rose  indeed  she  came  into  his  sight, 
shining  out  in  the  rabble  of  rough  whites  and  naked 
savages,  under  the  flickering  glare  of  the  hurricane 
lamps,  against  the  background  of  the  dark  and  roar- 
ing rain. 

And  when  Scott  saw  her  he  ceased  speaking. 

"  Go  on !  "  yelled  half  a  dozen  voices.  "  Sticking 
in  the  reef  like  plums — go  on !  How  much  of  it  was 
in  sight — how  far  do  you  reckon  it  runs  down? 
How  .   .   ." 


232  GUINEA  GOLD 

They  drowned  each  other  in  questions.  They 
seemed  half  mad  with  excitement:  every  man's  face 
was  red  or  pale  beyond  common,  and  some  of  them 
were  thumping  wildly  on  the  table,  or  half  dancing 
on  the  shaky  floor.  Mrs.  Carter  seemed  to  be  keep- 
ing her  head  better  than  the  men:  she  was  busy  with 
plates  and  glasses,  listening,  but  asking  no  ques- 
tions, and  her  face  showed  no  especial  pleasure. 
Tim  was  transfigured:  he  was  hanging  on  Scott's 
words  as  though  they  were  veritable  gold:  he  was 
uttering  strange  ejaculations,  and  giggling  like  a 
girl. 

But  the  crowd  were  left  to  ask  unanswered  when 
Charmian  came  in.  Straight  to  her  went  Scott,  and 
"  the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land  "  was  in  his 
eyes  as  he  took  her  hand. 

"You  here!"  he  said.  "Charmian,  I  thought 
it    was    your    ghost — your    little    ghost — when    I 


He  dropped  her  hand,  and  suddenly  his  eyes, 
though  looking  into  hers,  were  veiled. 

"  You  have  come  up  to  see  the  field?  "  he  said,  in 
another  voice.  "  I  hope  you'll  have  a  pleasant  time. 
You'll  pardon  my  going  back  to  these  men,  won't 
you,  Mrs.  Ducane?  The  fact  is,  our  party  have  got 
onto  very  good  gold,  and  they  are  all  anxious  to  hear 
about  it." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  been  fortunate,"  said  Char- 
mian, feeling  her  transient  roses  ebb  away. 

"  We  have :  I  must  tell  you  by  and  by,"  said  Scott, 


GUINEA  GOLD  233 

moving  back  to  the  men  and  being  instantly  absorbed 
once  more. 

Charmian  joined  Mrs.  Carter  and  began  helping 
her  with  the  supper. 

"  That's  a  good  girl,"  said  the  lady  of  the  house, 
with  something  less  than  her  usual  sharp  decision  of 
tone.  "  Come  out  to  the  store  and  help  me  to  open 
some  more  tins:  they'll  be  wanted." 

In  the  comparative  quiet  of  the  store,  as  they  took 
down  the  tins  and  sawed  them  open,  tumbling  the 
contents  into  plates,  the  two  women  had  a  chance  to 
speak. 

"  What's  it  all  about?  I  don't  half  understand," 
said   Charmian. 

"  Why,  I  reckon  they've  struck  it  rich,  somewhere 
up  on  the  Iri.  Scott's  come  down  to  file  the  claim  for 
the  lot  of  them,  with  the  warden  here.  He'll  be  off 
again  as  soon  as  he's  loaded  up  with  tucker.  Every 
mother's  son  on  the  field  will  be  off  too,  I  reckon, 
Carter  among  them." 

"  And  you?  "  asked  Charmian,  her  head  bent  very 
low  over  the  clumsy  tool  in  her  hand. 

u  And  you,  you  mean,"  corrected  Mrs.  Carter, 
with  a  hard  laugh.  u  It's  all  the  same,  however. 
You  and  me  together  don't  go  for  so  much  as  a  rot- 
ten stick  in  the  Kikiramu  in  flood — now.  You've 
got  to  learn,  my  girl,  how  much  a  woman  counts  in  a 
gold  rush." 

She  swept  her  tin-opener  round  the  top  of  a  can 


234  GUINEA  GOLD 

of  grapes,  and  poured  them  bubbling  out  on  to  a 
plate. 

"  I  hadn't  seen  Tim — not  for  a  year/'  she  said,  in 
a  dry,  indifferent  tone.  "  Hand  me  that  pickle 
bottle.  He  gets  asthma  sometimes.  Always  bad  in 
the  high  country  under  canvas.  And  he  lives  in  wet 
clothes  day  and  night,  out  of  sheer  damn  foolish- 
ness.   Some  of  these  days Men  are  babies,  the 

whole  lot  of  them.  You  don't  know — you're  a 
girl." 

"  I  think  you  forget  I'm  a  married  woman — or 
was,"  said  Charmian  quietly. 

11  Oh  no,  I  don't  forget  you've  been  to  church 
with  a  man,"  answered  the  other  woman,  piling  bis- 
cuits on  plates  with  the  rapidity  and  precision  of  a 
machine.  "  But  you  aren't  a  real  wife,  and  you  never 
was.  You  don't  know.  You've  been  a  man's  pet 
cat,  and  purred  on  a  cushion  to  please  him.  There's 
all  sorts  of  marriage,  and  a  lot  of  it  isn't  marriage 
at  all.  If  you'd  ever  been  a  real  married  woman, 
instead  of  just  a  plaything  that  a  man  had  to  pay 
for  with  a  ring,  you'd  know  they  was  all  babies — 
you'd  know  your  husband  was  far  more  your  child 
than  any  of  your  children.  ...  If  you're  done,  pick 
up  them  forks — you'll  find  more  in  paper  in  the 
drawer,  and  come  along.  Don't  drop  anything — 
you  girls  are  that  butter-fingered.  ..." 

Charmian,  a  little  dizzied  by  the  hail  of  hard 
facts  that  had  just  been  rained  about  her  ears,  fol- 
lowed mechanically  in  her  hostess's  track,  without 


GUINEA  GOLD  235 

asking  herself  why  she,  a  gentlewoman,  delicately 
bred,  should  act  parlourmaid  to  all  these  rough 
men.  Here,  in  the  Never-Never  land,  where  so 
many  of  the  small  things  of  life  seemed  to  have  been 
sifted  away,  the  big  things  stood  out  with  uncom- 
promising plainness.  It  was  the  place  of  a  man  to 
protect  a  woman,  to  put  a  roof  over  her  head,  and  to 
keep  her.  It  was  the  place  of  a  woman  to  see  to  the 
comforts  of  a  man.  You  did  not  ask,  first  of  all, 
whether  the  man  were  on  the  dinner-list  at  the  Fed- 
eral Government  House,  and  if  he  used  the  proper 
kind  of  engraved  visiting-cards  when  he  went  call- 
ing, with  the  right  combination  of  boots  and  suit 
on,  and  the  right  kind  of  tie,  tied  by  hand.  .  .  . 
This  was  the  Never-Never  country,  where  such 
things  did  not  matter.  If  you  did  not  like  it,  you 
could  go  back  to  Sydney. 

11  If  you'd  been  a  real  married  woman,  you'd 
know  they  was  all  just  babies.  .  .  .  "  The  sentence 
buzzed  in  her  ears  as  she  came  out  into  the  verandah 
again  and  set  down  her  load  on  the  table,  about 
which  the  men  were  beginning  to  gather.  Scott  had 
been  set  free  at  last,  and  had  found  a  place  at  the 
end  of  the  log  bench.  He  was  reaching  hungrily  for 
tea,  and  his  face,  through  the  yellow  tan  of  the  bush, 
was  white  with  weariness.  Charmian  slipped  into  a 
seat  and  helped  herself  to  something,  she  scarcely 
knew  what,  in  order  to  have  an  excuse  to  stay  and 
look.    It  was  so  delightful  to  see  him  eat.     He  had 


236  GUINEA  GOLD 

got  some  salmon  on  his  plate  now — and  bread — 
and  pickles. 

Tears  almost  came  into  her  eyes.  She  would  have 
liked  to  stand  beside  him  and  help  him  to  all  he 
wanted.  She  would  have  liked  to  feed  him  with  a 
spoon.  .  .  .  Would  not  he  shout  with  laughter  if 
he  could  read  her  silly  thoughts!  Yet — she  sup- 
posed— most  women  cared  for  men. 

"  You'd  know  your  husband  was  far  more  your 
child  than  any  of  your  children." 

"Why — that's  what  she  meant!  "  thought  Char- 
mian  in  a  flash  of  illumination.  "  How  I  used  to 
hate  to  watch  Grant  at  his  dinner !  He  ate  so  much 
and  his  face  grew  so  red!  But  if  ...  he  ...  ate 
too  much,  I  wouldn't  mind.  I  wish  he  would:  he 
never  eats  enough.  I  wish  they  wouldn't  keep  him 
talking  so  much." 

The  food  on  her  plate  turned  to  sawdust  then, 
and  she  could  not  get  on  with  it,  for  she  remembered 
what  it  was  they  were  talking  about — this  find  of 
gold,  this  hateful  thing  that  (she  felt  in  her  heart) 
would  put  yet  another  obstacle  between  her  and  him. 
Another  .  .  .  ?  What  was  the  first?  Well,  about 
that  she  did  not  want  to  think. 

It  was  near  three  in  the  morning  now,  and  sup- 
per was  done,  but  talk  still  kept  on.  The  rain  had 
stopped:  the  valley  below  was  full  of  sweet  wet 
smells,  and  a  cold  night  breeze  was  beginning  to 
blow  down  from  the  far  main  range.  The  Kikiramu 
sang  a  deep,  full-throated  song  at  the  bottom  of  the 


GUINEA  GOLD  237 

gorge — the  war-chant  of  the  wild,  unbroken  land 
that  these  strong  men  were  seeking  to  break  and 
tame. 

Charmian  crept  away  to  bed  with  the  sound  of 
that  song  in  her  ears.  Scott  had  looked  at  her  many 
times  in  the  course  of  the  evening — but  he  had  come 
near  her,  or  spoken  to  her,  scarce  at  all. 

When  she  slept  she  dreamed  that  she  stood  some- 
where in  empty  space,  "  whether  in  the  body,  or  out 
of  the  body,"  she  knew  not;  and  that  Scott  stood 
near  her:  but  that  she  could  not  reach  him,  or  touch 
his  hand,  because  of  two  strange  shapes  that  pressed 
her  away.  One  of  the  shapes  was  veiled  and  dim: 
the  other  was  clear  to  her  sight.  It  was  the  figure 
of  a  woman,  dark  and  savage,  with  cruel  beautiful 
eyes  and  bloodstained  mouth.  With  one  hand  the 
woman  held  her  away,  and  with  one  she  held  the 
man,  tight  as  the  white-toothed  alligator  holds  in 
the  steaming  swamps  of  the  river  lands.  And  the 
name  of  the  woman  was  Papua. 

Charmian  awoke.  She  had  thrown  off  the  sheet, 
and  felt  cold.  The  house  was  still  at  last,  and  the 
dawn  was  creeping  down,  purest  gold,  from  the 
peaks  of  the  German  ranges.  The  girl  sat  up  and 
flung  aside  her  net  to  look  out  across  the  valley. 

"  They  say  this  country  is  full  of  witchcraft,"  she 
thought.  u  I  believe  it  was  a  vision.  I  believe, 
between  them,  they  will  take  him  away." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Melba  was  singing  in  the  Kikiramu  valley. 

In  the  full  white  blaze  of  morning,  from  the  rocks 
of  the  riverbed  to  the  trembling  finials  of  the  trees 
that  crowned  the  ridge,  rose  and  sank  down  the 
golden  voice.  Across  the  leaf-embroidered  heights 
of  the  giant  staircase,  away  to  the  broken  flumes 
and  bush-grown  races  in  the  branchy  depths  below 
— from  the  great  drop-curtain  of  forest  that  might 
well  hide  peering  eyes  of  the  dreaded  Karivas,  to  the 
little  cleared  and  built-on  piece  of  land,  where  stood 
the  rough  brown  buildings  of  the  store — Melba  was 
singing. 

"Falling  leaf  and  fading  tree  .  .  . 
Shadows  rising  on  you  and  me, 
Shadows  rising  on  you  and  me." 

Here,  where  never  leaf  seemed  to  fade,  or  sum- 
mer to  die,  Melba  was  singing  of  waning  suns  and 
dying  flowers. 

"The  swallows  are  making  them  ready  to  fly, 
Wheeling  out  on  a  windy  sky, 
Good-bye,  summer— good-bye,  good-bye!" 

Down  in  the  gorge  a  scarlet  bird  of  paradise  went 
by,  like  a  comet  dropped  from  heaven :  little  jewelled 

238 


GUINEA  GOLD  239 

king-birds,  swaying  on  scented  orchid  bloom,  bathed 
their  shining  feathers  in  the  sun  that  never  failed. 

"Hush!  a  voice  from  the  far  away, 
Listen  and  learn,  it  seems  to  say, 
All  the  to-morrows  shall  be  as  to-day, 
All  the  to-morrows  shall  be  as  to-day, 
The  cord  must  break,  and  the  lamp  must  die, 
Good-bye  to  hope,  good-bye,  good-bye!" 

Scott  was  climbing  up  the  giant  stairway  at  the 
head  of  his  trail  of  carriers.  All  the  way  the  voice 
beat  upon  him  as  a  wave  beats  on  a  swimmer  half 
buried  in  the  surf.  Its  golden  spray  deafened  and 
blinded  him.     It  seemed  to  fill  the  world. 

"Good-bye,  summer — good-bye,  good-bye!" 

Under  the  diamond  rays  of  the  New  Guinea 
morning,  with  the  scent  of  unfading  flowers  rising 
among  trees  that  were  always  green  and  young, 
summer  was  dying. 

"What  are  we  waiting  for,  O  my  heart? 
Kiss  me  straight  on  the  brows,  and  part.  .  .  ." 

Not  even  a  kiss !  not  even  a  kiss  to  take  with  him 
on  the  long  journey  into  winter  and  dark  that  must 
last  the  rest  of  his  life.  How  could  a  lover  be  alto- 
gether unhappy  if  he  had  a  kiss  to  carry  with  him? 
But  he  had  not  had  a  kiss  from  Charmian.  He  had 
held  Her  hand,  and  let  it  go,  and  gone. 

"What  are  we  waiting  for,  you  and  I?  .  .  . 
Good-bye  for  ever!  good-bye!  good-bye!" 


240  GUINEA  GOLD 

The  voice,  the  marvel  of  a  century,  rose  into  a 
passionate  cry  that  embodied  all  the  pain  of  all  the 
lovers'  partings  in  all  the  world.  How  could  one 
feel  such  pain  and  live?  How  could  one  go  on, 
stumbling  up  the  ferny  steps  of  the  great  staircase, 
with  the  forest  ahead,  and  the  brown,  naked,  can- 
nibal carriers  behind, — the  long  day's  tramp  to  come, 
the  rivers  to  ford,  the  camp  to  make  in  the  wilder- 
ness at  night, — as  though  the  world  held  nothing  of 
her? 

He  did  not  know  how.  He  only  knew  that  he 
was  going. 

"Good-bye  for  ever!" 

They  had  reached  the  top  of  the  ridge.  The 
voice  was  growing  faint. 

"Good-bye!  Good-bye!" 

They  were  over  and  plunging  down  the  steep. 
Melba's  voice  was  still. 

Tim  Carter,  sitting  on  his  verandah,  took  the 
finished  record  out  of  his  new  gramophone  and 
slipped  in  another. 

"  I  don't  think  much  of  that,"  he  remarked  to 
himself.     "  I'll  have  something  tastier  this  time." 

And  in  another  moment  the  valley  rang  to  the 
strains  of  "  Stop  Yer  Ticklin',  Jock!  " 

He  had  scarcely  settled  down  to  enjoy  the  song 
when  a  terrible  thing  happened.    Someone,  tall,  furi- 


GUINEA  GOLD  241 

ous,  and  very  much  out  of  breath,  swept  on  to  the 
verandah  like  a  "  gooba  "  (a  New  Guinea  hurri- 
cane), there  was  a  rush,  a  smack,  and  Tim  fell  half 
over  the  side  of  his  canvas  chair,  rubbing  his  ear. 

"  Old  woman!  old  woman!  "  he  groaned,  without 
looking  up.  "  What  have  you  got  against  me  now? 
What  is  it  I've  done  this  time?  " 

"  Got  against  you?"  demanded  Mrs.  Carter, 
dropping  into  a  chair  and  speaking  between  ex- 
hausted gasps.  "  If  I  could  have  climbed  up  that 
confounded  lower  ladder  in  time,  I'd  have  let  you 
know!  I  was  down  at  Mick's  camp — he's  ill — and 
I  heard  you  begin  that  thing  when  I  was  half-way  up 
those  steps  from  the  river — and  I  could  no  more 
hurry — Tim  Carter,  you're  a  born  fool,  if  ever  there 
was  one!  " 

u  Well,  well,"  said  Tim  pacifically,  content,  as  he 
had  been  content  a  hundred  times,  to  accept  what 
he  could  not  understand,  "  better  take  a  bit  of  a 
rest :  there's  a  lot  to  do  by  and  by,  with  all  the  men 
getting  off,  the  stores  coming  up  from  the  landing. 
There's  fifteen  carriers  from  the  Dragon-Fly  in  half 
an  hour  ago — they  brought  my  new  gramophone." 

"  Oh,  you — you "     Mrs.  Carter  was  on  her 

feet  again.  "  You  and  your  gramophone !  "  the 
words  were  charged  with  blistering  scorn.  Mrs. 
Carter  fanned  herself  fiercely,  and  looked  at  her 
husband  as  though  she  could  say  a  good  deal  more, 
but  refrained,  for  reasons  known  to  herself,  and  in- 
comprehensible by  him. 


242  GUINEA  GOLD 

Her  silence,  as  she  rose  again,  and  moved  across 
the  verandah  in  the  direction  of  Charmian's  room, 
was  of  such  a  highly  charged  kind  that  Tim,  fearing 
to  cut  the  wire  by  some  unguarded  word  or  act, 
fairly  held  his  breath  until  his  better  half  had  dis- 
appeared. Then  he  slipped  away  on  tiptoe,  out  to 
the  native  carriers'  shed  in  the  yard,  carrying  his 
silenced  gramophone  in  his  hands.  Shortly  after, 
the  raucous  scream  of  a  Cockney  recitation  rose  on 
the  heated  air,  mingled  with  the  delighted  "  Woofs  " 
of  the  house-boys. 

Mrs.  Carter,  left  alone,  stalked,  like  a  tall  Fate 
with  a  flat  hat  on,  into  Charmian's  bedroom,  and 
planted  herself  beside  the  bed. 

Charmian  was  lying  on  her  face,  with  the  heels 
of  her  shoes  pointing  up  to  the  sago-thatch  ceiling. 
Her  hair  had  come  down,  and  was  spread  all  over 
the  pillow.  .  .  .  Her  round  waist  and  finely  sculp- 
tured thigh,  beneath  the  twisted  folds  of  the  cotton 
dress,  had  the  beauty  of  the  wind-blown  figures  in 
the  Elgin  Marbles.  And  no  marble  could  have  been 
more  still. 

"  She's  taking  it  hard — confound  Tim  and  his 
1  Good-byes!  '  "  thought  Mrs.  Carter.  For  a  min- 
ute or  two  she  waited.  A  bird  in  the  forest  called — 
"  O-tui  O !  O-ree !  O-ree !  "  It  was  half  dark  in  the 
brown-walled  room:  light  shot  in  long  spears 
through  the  floor. 

Charmian  lay  still. 

"  Tui !  Tui !  "     The  mate  of  the  bird  was  an- 


GUINEA  GOLD  243 

swering  from  far  away.  "  Tui !  Tui !  I  hear  you, 
love !  "  The  thousand  warm  scents  of  the  tropic 
forest,  the  glory  of  the  eternal  tropic  sun,  were  in 
that  call.    The  bird  loved,  and  was  happy. 

Charmian  stirred  restlessly,  and  flung  her  hand 
across  the  edge  of  the  bed.  A  long  sigh  passed 
over  her,  shaking  her  as  the  wind  shakes  the  spear- 
grass  at  sundown. 

"  Mrs.  Ducane,"  said  the  tall  Fate. 

"  I  want  to  be  alone."  Scarcely  to  be  heard, 
muffled  by  long  brown  hair,  came  the  reply. 

11  I  know  you  do,"  answered  Mrs.  Carter,  "  but 
I'm  not  going  to  let  you.  It's  not  time  to  cry  till 
you  know  you've  reason." 

"  I'm  not  crying."  Charmian  turned  on  her  side 
and  looked  up.  Her  face  was  deadly  white,  and  her 
eyes  were  underlined  with  splashes  of  purple,  but  she 
was  not  shedding  tears,  nor  had  she  shed  any. 

"  Things  you  can  cry  over  aren't  ..."  Her 
voice  trailed  away.  "  If  the  end  of  the  world  came, 
you  wouldn't    .    .    .    cry   ..." 

"  My  God !  how  you  do  lie  down  to  things !  "  said 
the  woman  who  had  tamed  North- West.  "  Before 
I'd  let  a  man  treat  me  like  that " 

u  Did  you  marry  the  man  you  cried  about  most?  " 
asked  Charmian,  sitting  up  and  flinging  back  her 
hair. 

Mrs.  Carter's  hard,  handsome  face  grew  slowly 
red. 

"  No,"  she  said. 


244  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  Then  I  don't  see  how  you  can  talk."  Charmian 
was  aroused  now,  and  looked  at  the  other  with  the 
instinctive  hatred  of  woman  against  woman,  that 
flashes  out  beneath  the  crust  of  civilisation  when 
love's  volcano-fire  begins  to  play. 

"  You're  a  lot  braver  and  stronger  than  I  am,  but 
you  couldn't  help  yourself  either.  You  needn't 
come  and  triumph  over  me.  We're  all  unhappy  to- 
gether— women — that's  the  truth.  I  don't  believe 
in  the  story  of  the  snake  and  the  apple,  but  there's 
something  true  in  it  somewhere.  Life  couldn't  be 
so  abominable  to  us  if  we  hadn't  somehow  done 
something  that  had  to  be  punished." 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  face  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  I'm  talking — talking,"  she  said,  "  and  he's 
going  away  ...  all  the  time,  I  don't  know  why  I 
can't  cry.     I'm  .    .    .  broken  .    .    .  somewhere." 

"  Look  here," — Mrs.  Carter  had  sat  down  on 
the  bed  beside  her  and  taken  her  hand  into  firm 
custody— "  let's  drop  all  that  skite  and  come  to 
facts.  Why  has  he  left  you?  This  week  or  two 
that  he's  been  here  you  was  never  away  from  one 
another.  You  was  walking  on  the  ridge,  and  sitting 
on  the  log  staircase,  and  spooning  on  the  verandah 
in  the  moonlight,  and  getting  up  to  see  the  sun  rise, 
and — well,  what  does  it  all  mean?  " 

11  It  means — the  other  woman,"  said  Charmian. 
The  momentary  excitement  had  faded:  she  was  sit- 
ting in  a  crumpled  heap  on  the  bed,  her  eyes  like 
gold-brown  flowers  that  had  faded  in  the  rain. 


GUINEA  GOLD  245 

"  What  other?  "  Mrs.  Carter  spoke  with  a  cer- 
tain sharpness,  expressive  of  her  contempt  for  the 
ways  of  men  in  general. 

"  He  never  told  me.  He  only  said — to-day — 
when  his  boys  were  ready,  and  they  put  the  loads 

on — he  just  said,  ■  If  I  were  free '  and  then  he 

took  my  hand,  and  then  he  went  away." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  about  the  Ducane  man?  " 

"  Yes.  Yesterday.  He  said  I  must  never  go  back 
to  him." 

"  Oh,  he  did,  did  he?  And  did  he  tell  you  how 
you  were  going  to  manage  to  live — not  that  I  would- 
n't keep  you  as  long  as  you  like,  my  girl,  but  I 
know  you " 

"  No,  I  wouldn't — thanks.  What  does  it  matter 
how  I  live?    I  shan't  live  long!  " 

She  had  propped  her  little  chin  on  her  hands,  and 
with  her  hair  falling  all  about  her,  was  looking  out 
through  the  low  window,  a  long,  long  way,  beyond 
the  valley,  and  the  forest  curtain,  and  the  far  high 
peaks  of  the  German  ranges — whither? 

"  Don't  look  like  that:  you  give  me  the  blooming 
shivers,"  said  the  other,  shaking  her  slightly.  Char- 
mian  turned  away  from  the  window  and  sank  back  on 
her  pillow  again,  face  hidden.  You  could  see  the 
life  slipping  away  from  her  as  you  might  see  the  sap 
in  a  withering  flower. 

"  Oh,  hell !  "  said  the  woman  of  the  backblocks, 
standing  up  straight  and  tall,  with  her  hands  on  her 
hips,  and  setting  her  face  in  a  baffled  frown.     For 


246  GUINEA  GOLD 

once  she  had  met  with  a  situation  she  could  not 
handle. 

She  swung  her  foot  irritably  as  she  stood — a  trick 
she  had  in  moments  of  annoyance.  The  toe  of  her 
shoe  struck  against  a  parcel  lying  on  the  floor,  half 
under  the  bed.  In  spite  of  the  swinging  stroke  the 
parcel  moved  not  at  all.  Mrs.  Carter  looked  at  it. 
It  was  a  smallish  oblong  packet,  sewn  up  in  ship 
canvas,  rather  like  a  loaf  of  bread  in  shape  and 
size.  She  bent  down  and  put  one  hand  under  it  to 
lift  it.  It  stirred  no  more  than  if  it  had  been  nailed 
to  the  floor.  She  took  both  hands  and  raised  it  with 
a  mighty  heave.  In  spite  of  her  strength  she  could 
scarcely  hold  it. 

11  My  Oath  !  "  she  panted.  "  Gold !  "  She  set  it 
down  on  the  bed,  and  the  crazy  piece  of  furniture 
creaked  with  its  weight. 

"  Here,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  pulling  Charmian  up 
with  small  ceremony,  "  what  on  earth  do  you  mean 
by  having  a  fortune  lying  on  your  floor?  What's 
the  gold?  Where  did  you  get  it?  My  oath!  there's 
every  weight  of  eight  hundred  ounces  in  that.  If 
Scott  left  it  for  you  to  take  care  of " 

11  He  didn't,"  answered  Charmian  in  a  dull,  unin- 
terested voice.     "  He  gave  it  to  me." 

"  Gave  it  to  you!  "  Mrs.  Carter  could  scarcely 
find  words.    "  Why,  it  must  be  every  bit  he's  got!  " 

"  It  isn't.    He  said  it  was  half." 

"  And  you  leave  three  thousand  pounds,  or  there- 
abouts, lying  under  your  bed !  " 


GUINEA  GOLD  247 

"  I  didn't  know  it  was  so  much,"  said  Charmian, 
her  face  showing  some  disquiet.  "  It  was  such  a 
small  parcel.  .  .  .  He  gave  it  to  a  boy  to  carry  to 
my  room.  He  said  it  was  half  of  his  gold,  and  I 
was  to  keep  it,  to  prevent  my  having  to  go  back 
to  .  .  .  He  was  saying  good-bye — and  I  couldn't 
think  of  anything  else.  .  .  .  What  does  it  matter? 
He's  gone." 

Her  face  was  like  an  alabaster  lamp  when  the 
flame  is  dead  within. 

"Matter?"  said  Mrs.  Carter  vigorously.  "I 
should  think  it  did  matter.  If  you're  going  to  take 
three  thousand  pounds  from  him,  you  may  as  well 
have  it  put  away  in  Tim's  safe.  .  .  .  My  word!  they 
must  have  struck  it  rich  all  right — there  won't  be  a 
digger  in  New  Guinea  but  will  be  up  on  the  field  in 
another  month — and  from  Australia,  too.  .  .  .  Half 
of  what  he  got!  Eight  hundred! — There,  let's  take 
it  to  the  scales." 

She  trod  heavily  out  of  the  room,  carrying  the 
parcel  of  gold  nursed  in  her  arms. 

"  Tim !  "  she  called.  "  Tim !  You  come  along 
here,  quick  and  lively.     Tim!" 

"  Eight  hundred  and  sixty-three  ounces !  "  she 
proclaimed,  returning  by  and  by  with  the  parcel  still 
in  her  arms,  freshly  sewn  up.  "  Three  thousand 
and  sixty-three  pounds,  or  thereabouts,  in  money. 
Over  fifty  pounds  sheer  weight,  avoirdupois.  And 
what  am  I  to  do  with  it,  Mrs.  Ducane?  " 


248  GUINEA  GOLD 

There  was  no  answer  from  the  bed.  She  bent 
down  and  looked  at  the  girl.  Charmian  seemed 
asleep,  but  she  did  not  wake  when  spoken  to,  and 
her  pulse,  when  Mrs.  Carter  lifted  the  delicate  wrist, 
was  very  slow  and  faint.  It  grew  fainter  as  the 
older  woman  held  it. 

"  Brandy!  "  called  Mrs.  Carter,  sending  the  gold 
under  the  bed  with  a  kick.  "  Brandy,  Tim — she's 
got  a  heart  attack,  or  something  like  it." 

The  shadowy  Tim  drifted  in  with  a  bottle  and 
glass,  waited  while  his  wife  poured  out  and  applied 
the  remedy,  saw  the  fluid  trickle  down  unswallowed 
on  the  pillow,  and  watched  still,  while  Mrs.  Carter 
briskly,  efficiently,  yet  with  a  growing  shade  of 
anxiety  in  her  face,  tried  one  fainting-fit  remedy 
after  another — to  no  effect.  Charmian  breathed 
quietly,  her  pulse  beat,  though  slowly.  But  she 
did  not  regain  consciousness. 

Some  white  men  came  in  from  the  camps,  bound, 
like  all  the  rest,  for  the  new  discovery.  Tim  went 
out  to  attend  to  them,  to  sell  them  stores  from  the 
stock  that  had  arrived  by  the  Dragon-Fly,  tell  the 
story  of  the  golden  reef  over  and  over  again,  and 
served  drinks  that  grew  stiffer  and  more  numerous 
as  the  day  went  on.  There  were  several  men  sing- 
ing and  quarrelling  on  the  verandah  before  the  sun 
began  to  sink.  A  train  of  boys,  apparently  master- 
less,  came  down  the  log  staircase,  and  began  drifting 
about  among  the  carousing  men. 


GUINEA  GOLD  249 

"  Here,  you,  where  do  you  come  from?  "  shouted 
Carter,  overbearing  with  drink. 

No  one  could  make  out.  They  were  unable  to 
pronounce  the  name  of  their  "  Taubada,"  as  is  usu- 
ally the  case  with  Papuans.  They  spoke  very  little 
English.  One  of  them  was  able  to  explain,  indis- 
tinctly, that  their  leader  had  gone  on  in  front  of 
them,  and  they  had  expected  to  find  him  at  the 
store. 

"  Well,  he  ain't  here,"  said  Carter.  "  You  go 
long  house  belong  boy,  you  kill  some  tin  meat,  you 
cook  tea.     By  and  by  he  come." 

It  grew  on  towards  evening:  smoke  began  to  rise 
from  the  cookhouses,  and  there  was  a  sound  of 
chopping  wood.  Rain  piled  up  in  the  north-west, 
threatened,  and  came  down.  It  became  dark:  the 
yellow-flamed  hurricane  lamps  were  lighted,  and 
hung  out  in  the  verandah  and  store. 

Mrs.  Carter  came  out  of  Charmian's  room  at 
last.  She  was  wiping  her  forehead  with  her  hand- 
kerchief, and  looked  dishevelled  and  tired,  but  re- 
lieved. 

"  My  word,  Tim,  I  have  had  an  afternoon !  "  she 
said.  "  Never  came  round  till  about  half  an  hour 
ago,  she  didn't.  I  thought  she  was  going  to  peg  out, 
sure  and  certain.  She  seems  all  right  now,  and  only 
thinks  she  fainted  a  little." 

"Well,  didn't  she?"  asked  Carter,  insinuating 
the  corkscrew  into  a  bottle  of  beer. 

"  If  that's  for  the  man  you  may  go  on  with  it. 


250  GUINEA  GOLD 

If  it's  for  yourself,  put  it  back  on  the  shelf:  you've 
had  enough,"  ordered  the  Queen. 

Carter  meekly  put  it  back. 

"  Faint?  "  went  on  his  wife.  "  No.  Nor  heart 
attack  neither,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  Looked  to  me 
more  like  something  I've  never  seen  in  a  white  per- 
son— yet." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Well,  you  know  how  those  niggers  can  die  in 
half  a  day,  without  anything  being  the  matter  with 
them,  if  they  happen  to  lose  interest  in  life,  and 
reckon  it  isn't  good  enough  to  go  on?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  that,  same  as  everyone  does." 

"  I'll  swear,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  with  some  emo- 
tion, "  if  she  hadn't  been  a  white  woman,  I'd  have 
been  certain  sure  she  was  just  going  off  like  that. 
She's  right  now — more  or  less — and  I'm  going  to 
make  her  eat  some  tea,  if  I  have  to  choke  it  down  her 
throat  for  her." 

"Where's  the  gold?"  asked  Carter,  with  a  sud- 
denness that  was  one  of  his  most  astonishing  char- 
acteristics. You  would  have  thought  him  half 
asleep,  as  a  general  rule :  but  he  waked  up  when  least 
expected. 

Mrs.  Carter  changed  colour  and  stepped  quickly 
back  into  the  bedroom. 

"  Under  the  bed,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  and  a 
kick.    "  Tim,  you  gave  me  a  turn." 

"  You  ought  to  have  a  turn,  old  woman,  leaving 
it  there.    Of  course  there  isn't  a  digger  on  the  field 


GUINEA  GOLD  251 

would  touch  it,  but  these  Kiwais  are  too  fly  alto- 
gether about  gold:  any  one  of  them  ..." 

"  Lord  Almighty!  "  said  his  wife,  making  a  sud- 
den dart  outside  the  house  into  the  fierce  rain  that 
was  beating  on  the  track — "  if  that  isn't  Scott  coming 
back,  you  may  call  me  a  Chow!  " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

The  track  to  Cripps'  Reef — the  new  track  that 
Anderson  had  marked  out  for  Scott  to  follow  on 
his  way  back — was  already  unmistakable  to  the  eyes 
of  any  bushman.  Coming  down,  Scott  had  gone 
mostly  by  compass,  and  by  the  lie  of  the  Iri  River, 
which,  as  it  turned  out,  ran  much  nearer  the  Ki- 
kiramu,  in  the  lower  part  of  its  course,  than  anyone 
had  supposed.  The  men  who  went  over  the  track 
sometime  after  him  went  by  the  footmarks  of  scores 
of  carriers,  by  campfire  ashes,  by  felled  bush  and 
torn-away  vine,  by  rough  log  bridges  newly  thrown 
over  unfordable  rivers — by  all  the  signs  showing  a 
road  that  has  been  passed  over  many  times.  For  the 
rush  had  begun. 

A  very  small  rush,  as  yet — only  the  men  from 
the  claims  around  the  Kikiramu  store,  and  a  few 
who  had  "  come  in  "  from  the  outer  camps,  after 
Scott's  arrival.  The  news  was  even  now  going  down 
the  Kikiramu  River  in  the  Dragon-Fly  launch,  and 
before  another  three  weeks  had  gone  past,  would  be 
flying  by  the  fortnightly  mail-boat,  and  the  Aus- 
tralian telegraph  wires,  south,  east,  and  west,  all 
over  the  great  continent.  About  the  same  time  it 
would  filter  through  to  the  outback  posts  of  civilisa- 
tion in  Papua   itself,   to   the  northern   and  north- 

252 


GUINEA  GOLD  253 

eastern  divisions,  and  the  isolated  D'Entrecasteaux 
and  Louisiades.  Then  the  rest  of  the  Papuan  miners 
— a  body  of  some  three  hundred  in  all — would  come 
by  steam-launch,  cutter,  or  canoe:  on  foot  through 
leech-infested  forests,  and  alligator-haunted  swamps, 
over  huge  ranges,  choked  with  forest,  where  never 
white  man's  foot  had  trod,  to  the  new  El  Dorado,  as 
some  of  them  had  found  their  way  in  the  old  days, 
to  the  fever-smitten  fields  of  Misima  and  Tagula: 
to  the  workings  of  the  Yodda  and  Mambare  coun- 
try, inhabited  by  the  fiercest  race  of  cannibals  in 
Papua :  to  the  scarcely  accessible  Waria  and  Wood- 
lark  Island,  and  all  the  other  fields,  now  mostly 
worked  out,  that  had  been  discovered  and  exploited 
at  the  cost  of  many  scores  of  lives. 

Rupert  Dence,  coming  down  to  the  Kikiramu  for 
reasons  best  known  to  himself,  found  the  track  as 
plain  as  a  high-road,  if  scarce  as  easy.  It  was  only 
a  three-days'  walk,  by  the  newly  marked  out  way — 
the  prospectors'  wanderings  had  taken  them  far 
away  from  the  goal  at  first,  and  by  the  time  they 
reached  it,  they  had  verged  back  within  thirty  miles 
or  so  of  the  Kikiramu  field.  If  you  crossed  the 
alligator  swamp — a  reasonably  safe  thing  to  do  in 
daylight — you  could  even  manage  the  trip  in  two 
days  and  a  half,  with  loaded  boys.  Dence  took  care 
to  strike  the  swamp  before  sundown:  he  did  not 
want  to  go  round  by  way  of  an  unnecessary  range  of 
mountains,  and  lose  half  a  day  .   .   .  now. 

As  he  had  started  in  the  middle  of  the  night  from 


354  GUINEA  GOLD 

Cripps'  Reef,  it  was  the  middle  of  the  second  day 
when  he  reached  the  spot  where  the  new  track  to  the 
Iri  struck  into  the  old  track  along  the  Kikiramu. 
There  was  a  well-worn  camping-ground  here:  trees 
had  been  cleared  a  little,  and  rough  bush  sheds  for 
carriers  had  been  built.  Skeleton  tent  frames — the 
two  pairs  of  gabled  posts,  the  two  horizontal  side 
supports  on  four  crotch  sticks,  which  are  so  familiar 
a  sight  to  camping  folk — stood  in  the  empty  spaces. 
There  was  water,  an  elbow  of  a  tributary  stream, 
with  a  good  gravelly  bed.  There  were  traces  of 
fires  everywhere,  and  bits  of  native  baskets,  and 
abandoned  carrying-poles,  and  a  stray  emptied  tin  or 
two.  The  ground  was  leafy  and  boggy,  and  crossed 
with  trunks  of  fallen  trees. 

"  We'll  kai-kai  here,"  said  Dence  to  his  head  boy, 
picking  out  a  log  under  the  shade  of  a  huge  but- 
tressed trunk.     "  Get  water — make  fire." 

The  Papuan  went  down  to  the  river,  and  the 
Englishman  set  himself  upon  the  log,  and  lit  his  pipe. 
It  was  good  to  rest  and  smoke  after  the  tramp  of  the 
morning.  It  was  pleasant  to  watch  the  long  clouds 
drift  through  clouds  of  trees,  and  see  the  sun  make 
spangles  of  white  fire  upon  the  varnished  leaves  in 
the  clearing — sheltered  oneself  by  the  age-old  clois- 
ters of  the  bordering  forest. 

There  was  time  for  a  good  long  halt,  and  he  took 
it,  letting  the  boys  prepare  the  midday  rice  and  meat 
at  their  leisure.  They  brought  him  his  dinner  in  a 
tin  plate,  and  he  ate  it  with  the  knife  from  his  belt, 


GUINEA  GOLD  255 

drinking  milkless  tea  out  of  his  metal  pannikin.  If 
you  had  seen  him  there,  and  known  his  history,  you 
would  have  thought,  perhaps,  of  the  days  when 
Rupert,  not  called  Dence,  had  eaten  off  silver  plate, 
and  drunk  vintage  wines  from  engraved  glasses; 
when  he  had  had  other  service  than  that  of  brown 
naked  men  with  red  leaves  in  their  hair.  .  .  .  But 
Rupert,  called  Dence,  had  well-nigh  forgotten  those 
days  now:  having  moulded  himself,  like  the  rest  of 
us,  to  the  medium  in  which  he  lived. 

He  had  pleasant  thoughts  as  he  sat  and  ate,  and 
yet  anxious  ones,  too.  He  frowned  a  little  at  his 
food,  and  often  stopped,  half-way  through  a  mouth- 
ful, to  consider.  The  head  boy  thought  the  rice 
was  badly  cooked,  and  trembled  over  his  own  din- 
ner, for  the  soft-voiced  Rupert  had  a  heavy  hand, 
on  occasion. 

...  If  one  could  divert  the  Taubada's  mind  to 
anything  else  there  was,  perhaps,  a  chance  of  escap- 
ing trouble.  ...  If  there  were  any  game  to  point 
out — any  traces  of  nomad  tribes  to  find  and  make 
much  of  .    .    .  anything — 

The  Papuan  stopped  eating,  and  sat  still  as  a 
figure  of  wood,  listening.  Why,  surely,  there  was 
something — feet  advancing  in  the  far  distance  .  .  . 
the  faint,  faint  tread  of  a  white  man's  boot,  the  far- 
away pad  of  bare  soles  ... 

"  Taubada,  one  white  man  he  come!  M  cried  the 
boy,  springing  up. 

"  Some  more  of  the  men  coming  up,"  said  Dence 


256  GUINEA  GOLD 

to  himself,  and  lifted  a  bladeful  of  rice.  He  watched 
the  turn  of  the  track  before  him  without  interest, 
until  the  white  man  at  the  head  of  the  column  of  car- 
riers came  into  sight.  Then  he  jumped  to  his  feet 
and  uttered  an  exclamation.  The  turn  was  very 
near,  and  he  had  seen  the  expression  on  Scott's  face. 
Hag-ridden,  desperate,  white,  wearied  with  fierce 
exercise  that  had  failed,  after  all,  to  ease  the  torment 
of  his  mind — the  man's  whole  aspect  spoke  aloud  of 
defeat  and  of  pain. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment.  He  saw  Dence  almost 
as  quickly  as  Dence  saw  him,  and  instantly  the  blind 
was  drawn  down,  the  bright,  hard  smile  lit  up  like  a 
lamp,  the  bent  shoulders  straightened.  Scott,  when 
he  tramped  into  the  clearing,  and  held  out  a  hand 
to  his  mate,  was  Scott  as  everyone  knew  him :  tired- 
looking,  perhaps,  but  pleasant,  cheerful,  ready  to 
talk  and  even  to  joke.  You  would  not  have  sup- 
posed he  had  a  care  in  the  world,  other  than  that 
of  making  good  time,  and  getting  up  to  his  camping- 
ground  at  dusk — unless,  maybe,  you  had  been  a 
woman,  and  had  loved  him.  Or  unless  .  .  .  you  had 
been  a  man  whose  eyes  were  made  keen  by  the 
mighty  power  of  jealousy. 

In  the  days  of  Samarai,  which  seemed  so  long  ago, 
Dence  had  almost  loved  this  man,  and  Scott  as- 
suredly had  been  drawn  to  him,  as  he  was  not  drawn 
to  any  other  man  in  Papua — not  even  to  the  fine 
nature  and  noble  courage  of  Anderson,  their  leader. 
Now,  the  two  met  with  pleasant  words  on  their  lips, 


GUINEA  GOLD  257 

but  the  hate  of  hell  itself  in  their  hearts.  The  upper- 
most thought  in  each  man's  mind  that  moment  was — 
"Does  she  care  for  him?" — and  the  undermost 
thought  .    .    . 

I  think  that  neither  Dence  nor  Scott  knew  what 
that  thought  was.  But  the  savages  who  stood  about 
them  knew.  And  one  from  the  Aird  River  country, 
where  they  kill  men  for  pastime  as  a  child  might  kill 
flies,  began  to  chant  a  low,  fierce  song,  and  to  cast 
devilish  looks  and  laughs  behind  him  at  his  com- 
rades. 

Meantime,  the  white  men  were  talking. 

"  Only  getting  back  now?"  said  Dence.  "I 
thought  I'd  have  met  you  a  good  deal  farther 
out." 

"  Why,  what's  bringing  you  down,  anyhow?" 
asked  the  other,  speaking  more  lightly  than  he  felt. 

"Bringing  me  down?"  replied  Dence  thought- 
fully, as  if  he  had  been  set  a  riddle.  Then,  brightly 
— "  I'll  think  it  over,  and  let  you  know  as  soon  as  I 
find  out.  Do  you  know,  I  was  just  wondering  about 
that  myself?  Couldn't  suggest  anything,  could 
you?" 

This  was  insolence.  Scott  felt  his  blood  warming 
up.  For  the  moment  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to 
reply. 

Dence  seemed  to  draw  new  life  from  every  line  of 
Scott's  worn  face  and  body,  as  a  vampire  draws  food 
from  living  veins. 

"  Had  your  kai-kai?  "  he  asked,  breaking  into  a 


258  GUINEA  GOLD 

gay  whistle  as  soon  as  the  question  left  his  lips,  and 
staring  about  him  in  the  forest. 

"  No,"  answered  Scott 

"  Have  some?  " 

"  No." 

"  Reef's  pinchin'  out,  Anderson  thinks.  Hard 
luck  for  all  the  Johnnies  who  are  comin'  up  now. 
What?" 

"  Is  that  why  you  left  it?  " 

"  No.  I  left  it,"  explained  Dence,  smoking  as  he 
talked,  and  speaking  very  gently,  "  because  I — as 
dear  old  Micawber  would  say — '  in  short,  chose.'  " 

The  Aird  River  boys  did  not  know  English. 
There  was  a  certain  universal  language  that  they 
did  know,  however,  and  they  kicked  each  other 
with  delighted  anxiety.  Were  the  Taubadas  going 
to  give  them  some  fun? 

Under  the  black  shade  of  the  great  buttressed  tree 
there  was  silence  for  a  few  seconds.  The  sea-like 
murmur  of  the  forest  grew  very  clear.  You  could 
hear  the  tinkling  of  the  carriers'  beads  and  neck- 
laces as  they  breathed. 

"  The  diggers  have  told  him.  .  .  .  He  is  going  to 
her.  .  .  .  She  is  alone — unhappy — afraid  of  Du- 
cane.  .  .  .  She  liked  him  before.  .  .  .  She  will! 
She  will  do  it!  ..." 

"  He  has  left  her.  .  .  .  He  is  keeping  faith  with 
his  Irish  girl.  .  .  .  By  God,  it's  my  turn  now! 
Charmian,  Charmian!  " 

There  was  not  a  word  spoken.     The  two  men 


GUINEA  GOLD  259 

looked  at  each  other.  And  in  that  look  the  fate 
of  three  lives  took  shape. 

Scott,  remembering  in  the  after  years,  knew  that 
he  had  not  thought  at  all,  after  seeing — what  he 
saw — in  Dence's  eyes.  He  had  only  acted.  Three 
thousand  years  of  evolution  shredded  away  from 
his  mind  as  bark  shreds  from  a  tree  before  a  light- 
ning blast.  He  became  as  the  naked  savages  who 
stood  beside  him.  And  the  new  (or  was  it  the  old?) 
Stone  Age  man  in  him  laughed  consumedly  at  the 
incomprehensible  madness  of  rejection  and  sacrifice, 
so  nearly  committed  by  the  fool,  George  Scott. 

It  was  Scott  as  others  knew  him,  however,  who 
turned  to  the  carriers  with  his  usual  kindliness  of 
manner,  and  bade  them  open  their  food-bags  and 
dine:  who  took  meat  and  biscuit  for  himself,  and  sat 
down  on  a  log  to  eat  it,  with  the  calm  purpose  of 
a  man  who  had  work  to  do,  and  means  to  neglect 
no  aid  towards  the  doing.  Dence  looked  at  him 
oddly.  He  could  not  understand  this  sudden  silence, 
this  ignoring  of  himself.  He  did  not  altogether 
like  it. 

"  The  poor  devil  can't  bear  to  talk  to  me:  he's 
so  beastly  jealous,"  was  the  solution  that  he  tried 
to  make  himself  accept.     But  it  did  not  satisfy  him. 

He  made  a  remark  or  two,  as  the  meal  went  on. 
He  was  answered  quietly:  but  conversation  dropped, 
heavy  as  lead,  into  unfathomable  silences.  The  boys 
finished  their  food.  Dence  cleared  his  tin  plate. 
Scott  broke  the  last  piece  of  his  biscuit. 


260  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  must  be  going,"  observed 
Dence. 

The  carriers  hoisted  up  their  loads  again,  and 
took  leave  of  one  another,  with  many  strange  cries 
of  farewell.  Dence  beckoned  his  boys  out  on  to 
the  track. 

"Well,  so  long!"  he  said,  with  the  touch  of 
swagger  in  his  bearing  that  always  made  one  listen, 
unconsciously,  for  the  jingle  of  spurs.  He  held  out 
his  hand. 

Scott  did  not  take  it,  or  return  the  salute. 

"Out  of  friends,  eh?"  asked  Dence,  twisting 
his  moustache.  The  idea  did  not  seem  to  displease 
him. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Scott  coolly.  "  I'm  coming 
with  you." 

"  Coming  with  me?  "    His  face  grew  dark. 

"  Certainly.  We  ought  to  get  in  by  six  o'clock, 
without  pressing  the  boys." 

"  And  may  one  ask,"  said  Dence,  with  more  than 
a  touch  of  insolence  in  his  manner  now,  "  the  rea- 
son of  this  curious  proceedin'?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  one  may,"  answered  Scott,  smiling  very 
pleasantly,  "  it's  because  I — '  in  short,  choose.'  " 

No  white  man's  tongue  could  tell — it  is  probable 
that  no  white  man's  brain  could  imagine — the  disap- 
pointment that  took  possession  of  the  Kiwais  and 
Orokivas  and  Goari-Bari  men  as  that  strange  after- 
noon wore  on.    They  had  been  certain  that  the  Tau- 


GUINEA  GOLD  261 

badas  were  going  to  fight — possibly  to  kill  one  an- 
other with  the  desirable  little  six-throated  guns  that 
they  wore  in  their  waistbelts.  They,  the  carriers, 
had  smelt  blood  in  the  air,  and  were  half-drunk  on  it 
already.  .  .  .  After  these  long  months  of  unutter- 
able ennui — eating  and  working  all  day,  sleeping  all 
night  long  with  never  so  much  as  a  midnight  stab- 
bing raid,  or  a  skull  smashed  in  with  a  pineapple 
stone  club,  to  give  a  bored  unlucky  heathen  a  little 
taste  of  amusement — they  really  had  had  hopes 
that  things  were  beginning  to  brighten.  And  now, 
there  were  the  Taubadas  walking  one  after  the 
other,  hour  by  hour,  along  the  track,  and  up  the 
steep  knife-ridges,  and  through  the  riverbeds,  ex- 
changing no  word,  it  was  true,  but  never  so  much  as 
reaching  out  to  make  a  stab  at  a  bare,  sweating  neck, 
or  a  jab  into  an  unprotected  back,  between  the 
shoulder-blades,  with  their  knives!  This,  too,  on  a 
track  that  offered  every  facility  for  good,  effective 
fighting,  according  to  the  standards  of  sensible  folk 
— a  road  that  furnished  ambushes  uncountable, 
drops  and  down-slides  of  unimaginable  tempting- 
ness,  and  that  never  for  a  moment  allowed  two  men 
to  walk  easily  abreast! 

There  was  still  one  hope  left,  and  the  boys  dis- 
cussed it  eagerly  among  themselves  as  they  padded 
on  under  the  steamy  shades  of  the  forest.  When  the 
two  white  men  saw  the  woman  (no  one  who  knows 
the  Papuan  will  need  to  be  told  that  the  cause  of  the 
trouble  was  as  plain  to  these  simple  savages  as  it 


262  GUINEA  GOLD 

would  have  been  to  a  whole  drawing-room  full  of 
black  coats  and  silk  dresses) — when  they  saw  the 
woman,  there  might  be  fun  after  all.  The  Orokivas, 
and  the  Goari-Baris,  and  the  Yassi-Yassis,  and  the 
Kiwais,  knew  quite  well,  by  experience,  how  exceed- 
ingly annoying  it  was,  even  to  the  best-tempered 
men,  to  have  another  man  actually  bothering  round 
in  the  presence  of  the  woman  you  happened  to  want 
yourself.  All  sorts  of  things  were  liable  to  happen 
in  a  case  like  that— even  with  a  really  good-natured 
man,  who  would  not  so  much  as  roast  a  captive  on 
a  stick,  alive,  or  bite  off  an  enemy's  nose.   .    .    . 

It  began  to  rain  at  four  o'clock,  and  kept  hard  on 
all  the  rest  of  the  way.  Dark  came  down  soon  after 
six:  they  climbed  the  heart-breaking  height  of  the 
cliff  more  by  feeling  than  by  sight,  and  reached  the 
summit  winded,  scratched,  and  bruised  by  a  dozen 
falls.  They  had  kept  together,  silent,  throughout 
the  afternoon,  and  they  did  not  speak  when  the  lights 
of  the  camp  blinked  into  view  through  beating  rain, 
some  hundreds  of  feet  below.  On  Scott  had  fallen 
the  calmness  of  a  resolution  made  for  good  and  all. 
The  new,  strange  man  in  him  smiled  quietly  at  the 
thought  of  the  fool  with  the  breaking  heart  who  had 
climbed  up  that  height  in  the  silver  of  the  early 
sun,  rocks  and  valley  ringing  out  into  his  ears: 
"Good-bye  to  hope— good-bye,  good-bye!" 

He  was  breaking  the  most  solemn  promise  of  his 
life:  he  was  jilting  an  innocent  girl  who  loved  and 


GUINEA  GOLD  263 

trusted  him:  he  was,  in  fine,  a  blackguard.  Cer- 
tainly: agreed:  allowed.  It  didn't  particularly  mat- 
ter. Nothing  had  mattered  very  much,  since,  in  the 
forest  clearing  he  had  met  that  look  on  Rupert 
Dence's  face,  and  had  seen,  in  the  sudden  lightning 
blaze  of  prevision,  Charmian  with  Rupert's  lips  on 
hers. 

And  Dence? 

The  stream  of  wild  fury  in  his  heart  raged  like 
the  torrent  of  a  mountain  waterfall.  So  far  the  sav- 
ages were  right.  So  far  had  they  read  well  that  his 
hand  had  indeed  been  near  the  haft  of  his  knife 
more  than  once  during  that  silent  march  through 
the  forest.  Almost  he  had  called  out  on  Scott  to 
halt — to  draw  his  knife,  or  take  his  pistol  from  its 
holster,  and  see  once  for  all  which  was  the  better 
man  of  these  two  who  loved  one  woman.  Only  one 
thing  held  him  back — the  hideous  knowledge  that, 
in  sober  truth,  there  was  nothing  to  fight  about:  no 
chance  to  stake.  Scott  held  all  the  cards.  Charmian 
loved  him.  She  might  marry  another  man — indeed, 
Dence  told  himself  bitterly,  she  would  marry  a 
dozen  times,  if  a  dozen  times  set  free,  being  in  truth 
no  more  able  to  help  herself  than  a  little  soft-eyed 
hare  loosed  among  a  pack  of  dogs — but  the  chance 
that  he,  and  others,  might  have,  would  only  come 
through  Scott's  defeat.  And,  save  Scott  himself, 
who  was  to  defeat  him? 

So,  sick  at  heart,  and  blind  with  rage,  he  fol- 
lowed Scott  down  the  long  staircase,  scarce  knowing 


264  GUINEA  GOLD 

why  he  followed,  but  determined,  all  the  same,  not 
to  leave  him  until    .    .    . 

What?    That  remained  to  be  seen. 

"Mrs.  Ducane!     Mrs.  Ducane!', 

There  was  something  in  Mrs.  Carter's  voice  that 
snatched  Charmian  from  her  bed  like  a  hand  laid  on 
her  shoulders.  Yet  the  pioneer  woman  had  not  even 
touched  her.  She  had  put  her  head  inside  the  door- 
way of  Charmian's  room  and  spoken  her  name. 
And  in  an  instant  Charmian  was  out,  and  up,  and 
.     .    .    at  the  looking-glass. 

Mrs.  Carter  burst  out  laughing,  with  a  cry  some- 
where in  the  laugh. 

"Yes!"  she  said.  "He's  there.  He's  back. 
Put  up  your  hair,  and  pull  down  that  blouse  of  yours. 
Doll  yourself  up  as  much  as  you  like,  and  come 
out!" 

She  was  gone.  She  took  Tim  by  the  ear  and  led 
him  into  the  store  and  told  him  to  stop  there.  Stray 
carriers  were  swept  off  the  little  side  verandah  like 
leaves  before  a  storm.  Miners  wandering  about 
were  somehow  conjured  away.  The  leaf-thatched 
verandah,  with  its  rough  table  and  sapling  floor,  was 
empty  of  all  save  one  white  figure  with  a  small,  pale, 
glorified  face,  when  Scott,  big,  ragged,  mud-smeared, 
with  eyes  like  grey  Irish  diamonds  alight  beneath 
his  black-set  brows,  stepped  out  of  the  night  and 
the  rain. 

"  Charmian,  I've  come  back,"  he  said. 


GUINEA  GOLD  265 

.The  pale  ghost  of  the  other  woman,  and  the  dark 
ghost  of  the  spirit  of  Papua,  faded  away.  .  .  . 
Charmian  held  out  her  hands  to  the  man  who  was 
only  hers.  And  the  kiss  that  had  haunted  the  wak- 
ing and  sleeping  hours  of  Scott,  from  the  coral 
shores  of  Samarai  to  the  long  reaches  of  the  Iri 
River,  through  all  the  wonders  of  the  unknown 
secret  lands,  through  thirst  and  hunger  and  peril, 
and  the  spilling  of  blood,  and  the  search  for  gold, 
was  his  at  last. 

A  few  seconds  later  Rupert  Dence  walked  into 
the  store,  lifted  a  case  of  whiskey  from  one  of  the 
shelves  like  a  feather,  went  out  without  a  word  of 
greeting,  and  plunged  away  down  the  lower  log 
staircase  into  the  dark. 

As  he  went,  several  disappointed  heathens  crept 
out  from  under  the  house,  where  they  had  been 
eagerly  watching  the  course  of  events,  up  to  the 
moment  when  Rupert  had  turned  away  from  the 
lighted  oblong  of  the  verandah  doorway.  Chant- 
ing their  disgust  and  disillusionment  in  loud  major 
thirds,  they  made  their  way  to  the  cookhouse  in  the 
yard.  If  there  were  going  to  be  no  games,  there 
would  at  least  be  bread. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carter  were  breakfasting. 

After  the  rain  the  morning  was  magnificent. 
Sweet  cold  scents  of  orchid  and  jasmine  rose  up 
from  the  river  valley.  Beyond  the  treetops  the 
mountain  peaks  stood  out  in  facets  of  blue  crystal 
against  a  sky  of  primrose-gold.  The  world,  the  un- 
soiled,  unhandled  world  of  the  virgin  forests,  was 
new  and  pure. 

"  Tim,  it's  a  fine  morning,"  observed  Mrs.  Carter 
over  her  plate  of  cold  boiled  cassowary.  u  And 
that  girl  loafing  over  her  tea  in  bed.  .  .  .  Ah!  I've 
no  patience  with  girls — they're  a  rabbit-headed  crew, 
all  the  lot." 

"  You  took  her  her  tea,"  observed  Carter,  out  of 
his  own  cup. 

"  Had  to :  she's  fair  shook  up.  But  she's  no  busi- 
ness to  be.  That's  what  I  quarrel  with.  Nerves ! 
If  I'd  caught  a  daughter  of  mine  havin'  such  a  thing 
about  her " 

"  I  reckon  they  knew  better,"  said  Carter  im- 
personally. 

"  And,  as  you  can  bear  witness  yourself,  there 
wasn't  one  of  the  six  performed  like  that,  wedding- 
day  or  no  wedding-day.    Up  they  were,  as  bright  as 

bees,  baking " 

266 


GUINEA  GOLD  267 

"  Wedding-day  ?  "  Carter  interrupted,  with  small 
ceremony,  the  amazing  entomological  parallel  just 
commenced  by  his  wife.  "  Whose  wedding-day  is 
it?" 

"  Scott's  and  hers,  of  course,"  replied  Mrs.  Car- 
ter calmly.  "  I  wasn't  going  to  stand  no  nonsense, 
so  I  told  them  both  last  night,  when  I  saw  they'd 
done  canoodling  on  the  verandah.  There's  the 
Dragon-Fly  due  to  leave  the  landing  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  and  there'll  not  be  more  than  time  to 
send  off  a  notice  of  the  wedding,  if  it  goes  to-day 
with  the  carriers.  They've  muddled  about  this  job 
long  enough:  time  it  was  settled  for  good  and  all. 
I  must  say  Scott  was  very  reasonable :  he  said  he  had 
no  objection  in  the  world,  and  sent  a  message  to  the 
warden  right  off.  He's  coming  up  some  time  before 
lunch  to  marry  them,  and  he's  lending  them  his 
house  into  the  bargain.  As  for  that  girl,  she  cried, 
and  told  me — had  the  face  to  tell  me — she  oughtn't 
to  marry  him,  because  of  some  nonsense  about  an- 
other woman.  Said  she  was  making  him  act  against 
his  conscience:  he'd  never  mentioned  the  other  girl 
to  her,  but  she  was  sure  of  it,  all  the  same.  And  she 
yesterday  morning  breaking  her  heart  because  he 
hadn't  left  the  other !  I  declare,  Tim,  my  patience 
just  pinched  right  out,  and  I  said  to  her:  '  You  get 
to  bed  quick  and  lively,  and  if  I  hear  any  more  yap 
about  not  marrying,  my  girl,  I  vow  I'll  smack  you ! ' 
Off  she  went  like  a  lamb:  but  she's  all  nerves  this 
morning,  and  says  she's  wicked.    Wicked?    Trash  1 


268  GUINEA  GOLD 

I'm  going  in  to  help  her  to  doll  up  by  and  by,  and 
then  I  reckon  we'll  hear  no  more  about  wickedness. 
I've  got  a  nice  muslin  dress  that  I  brought  up  to 
make  for  Mary's  girl:  it'll  do  her  all  right,  with  a 
tuck  or  so — and,  by  the  way,  Tim,  just  you  send  one 
of  the  boys  down  to  the  warden's  house  for  a  bit  of 
that  orange  blossom  he  has." 

"  Widows  don't  wear  orange  blossom,"  objected 
Tim. 

"Widows?  She  ain't  a  widow:  she's  only  got 
rid  of  a  bad  bargain,  and  she'll  be  married  like  a 
regular  decent  bride,  or  my  name  isn't  Ann  Carter. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  law  against  a  divorced 
woman  marrying  in  white  and  orange  blossom?" 

"  Only  widows,"  allowed  Tim  perplexedly. 

"  Well,  then,  send  that  boy  off,  and  sort  up  the 
store :  all  the  men  that  aren't  away  by  one  o'clock 
will  be  there,  so  we'll  want  room  to  stand." 

"What    about    that    parcel    of    gold?"    asked' 
Tim. 

"  Man,  you're  like  a  bluebottle  fly.  I  tell  you  it's 
all  right.  I  saw  it — and  kicked  it — this  morning. 
Where  d'you  think  we  are?  In  a  back  alley  of 
Melbourne,  or  up  on  the  Kikiramu?  If  it  was  lying 
on  the  counter  of  the  store,  instead  of  under  her  bed, 
there  isn't  a  man  here  who  would  touch  it." 

"  Well,  old  woman,"  maintained  Carter,  with  the 
curious  persistence  that  he  could  show  at  times, 
u  I'm  not  saying  anything  against  anyone,  but  I 
don't  see  what  we've  got  an  expensive  safe  for,  that 


GUINEA  GOLD  269 

near  killed  three  carriers  out  of  ten,  on  the  way  up, 
if  it  isn't  to  put  gold  in,  when  gold's  in  the  house." 
"  I  suppose  you're  right:  you  do  seem  to  be  right, 
once  in  a  way,"  allowed  his  wife  grudgingly.  "  She's 
dressing  now:  I'll  give  her  this  muslin,  and  as  soon 
as  she's  out  of  her  room,  I'll  get  you  the  gold. 
Now  you  go  and  see  to  having  the  store  swept." 

To  Charmian,  being  a  beautiful  woman,  even  the 
signs  of  sleeplessness  and  nervous  strain  were  not 
altogether  unbecoming.  Any  ordinary  woman  would 
have  looked  plain,  with  black  shadows  under  her 
eyes,  drooping  mouth,  and  colourless  cheeks.  But 
under  Charmian's  lovely  eyes  the  dark  stain  of 
fatigue  looked  like  an  Eastern  beauty's  touch  of 
kohl:  the  paleness  of  her  pearl-white  face  seemed 
designed  to  make  the  lips  look  redder:  the  very 
droop  of  the  mouth  invited  kisses.  When  she  had 
finished  dressing,  and  taken  a  long  look  in  the  glass, 
there  was  scarce  a  shadow  left  of  the  nervousness 
that  had  aroused  good  Mrs.  Carter's  wrath.  Char- 
mian loved  her-  own  beauty  too  well  not  to  know  all 
its  different  phases,  and  she  saw  at  once  that  her 
looks  to-day  had  touched  their  zenith.  More,  surely 
more !  There  was  something  added — a  perfume  to 
the  flower,  a  sun-ray  to  the  jewel.  She  had  never 
looked  so  in  all  her  life  before. 

Knowing  this,  she  felt  suddenly  and  completely 
happy.  What  if  she  were  luring  Scott  away  from 
the  shadowy  woman  to  whom  (she  guessed)  he  had 


270  GUINEA  GOLD 

given  faith!  Look  what  she  was  giving  him!  She 
was  so  beautiful! 

She  put  on  the  white  laced  muslin  that  Mrs.  Car- 
ter had  given  her,  and  spent  a  delicious  half-hour  ad- 
justing and  arranging  it,  and  fastening  in  her  hair 
the  cluster  of  orange  blossom  brought  her  by  Car- 
ter's messenger.  She  knew  it  was  all  wrong,  this 
white  dress,  these  bridal  flowers,  for  her,  Grant 
Ducane's  discarded  wife :  but  that  troubled  her  little. 
The  only  thing  that  mattered  was  that  her  looks 
should  be  brought  to  the  highest  point  of  perfection 
possible.  Was  not  George  Scott  giving  up  his  best 
prospects  in  life  to  marry  her,  with  her  stained  name, 
and  his  honour,  to  free  himself  for  her?  The  value 
for  which  he  had  bartered  these  things  should  be 
as  high  as  possible:  it  was  her  business  to  see  to 
that. 

^yhen  she  came  out  on  to  the  verandah  there  was 
no  one  there.  The  miners — some  ten  or  fifteen, 
who  were  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  provisions  from 
the  landing-place,  to  make  a  start  for  Cripps'  Reef 
— had  gone  off  to  tidy  themselves  up;  Razors  were 
at  a  premium  in  the  camp,  ties  urgently  demanded, 
and  the  bitter  remonstrance  of  one  or  another,  un- 
lawfully bereft  of  hoarded  clean  shirt  or  "  flash  " 
new  belt,  sounded  among  the  outbuildings  of  the 
store.  Scott,  with  characteristic  energy,  was  getting 
his  train  of  carriers  in  shape  to  start:  they  were  to 
get  away  for  Cripps'  Reef  as  early  as  possible, 
loaded  with  the   food  that  Anderson  required,  in 


GUINEA  GOLD  271 

charge  of  a  miner  who  had  secured  his  own  pro- 
visions and  boys,  and  would  start  that  day.  Mrs. 
Carter  was  in  the  cookhouse,  making  her  boys  fly 
round  as  she  began  the  concoction  of  a  wedding 
breakfast  out  of  the  few  supplies  procurable.  For 
the  moment  there  was  peace  and  quiet  in  the  camp, 
and  Charmian  was  glad  of  it  as  she  dropped  on  to  a 
long  canvas  chair,  and  shut  her  eyes,  to  rest. 

Being  tired  after  her  restless  night,  she  half 
dropped  off  to  sleep.  She  heard  a  bustle  in  her 
room  by  and  by,  people  moving  about,  somebody 
talking,  somebody  else  hushing  him  or  her.  She  did 
not  pay  any  attention — there  was  only  one  thing 
in  the  world  that  mattered  to-day. 

Feet  began  to  sound  about  the  house — heavily 
booted  feet  that  came  from  many  quarters,  and  met 
together  somewhere  about  the  doorway  of  the  store. 
The  talking  in  the  bedroom  was  drowned  by  the  in- 
creasing hum  outside.  It  swelled  to  a  shout,  by  and 
by,  and  voices  could  be  heard  raised  in  loud  greeting 
to  Phillips,  the  magistrate  and  warden,  who  was 
evidently  coming  up  the  lower  series  of  ladders, 
from  his  bungalow  across  the  valley. 

Charmian  jumped  up  and  went  to  the  rail  .  .  . 
Phillips,  the  gay  young  fellow  with  curly  hair  whom 
she  had  seen  in  the  store  on  the  night  of  Scott's 
arrival,  was  almost  at  the  top  of  the  stairs:  he  wore 
a  white  suit — a  thing  seldom  seen  on  the  Kikiramu 
— and  a  newly  pipe-clayed  helmet:  and  his  snowy 
shoes  made  it  plain  to  the  eyes  of  all  present  that  he 


272  GUINEA  GOLD 

had  carried  a  pair  with  him,  and  put  them  on  at  the 
last  flight  of  the  muddy  ascent  from  the  river. 

The  miners,  Micky  and  Bobby  and  Jack  and  Dick, 
and  German  Billy,  and  Cortland,  and  Otto  Riddick, 
and  the  rest,  were  all  round  the  doorway  of  the 
store,  waiting.  They  had  managed  to  find  clean 
shirts  and  trousers,  and  to  fasten  pins  in  the  place 
of  missing  buttons,  and  every  man  who  did  not  wear 
a  beard  was  shaved.  They  looked  a  rough  crew 
and  a  mixed  one — there  were  men  among  them  who 
had  taken  university  degrees,  and  others  who  could 
barely  write  a  dozen  words  of  an  ungrammatical 
letter:  there  were  men  who  drank  themselves  half 
to  death  once  or  twice  a  year,  and  men  who  were 
strictly  sober:  men  who  were  lads  when  gold  was 
first  found  in  Australia,  and  men  who  remembered 
nothing  older  than  the  Boer  War  .  .  .  men 
who   ... 

"  That  is  it,"  said  Charmian  to  herself,  pausing 
on  the  constant  repetition  of  one  word — "  they  are 
lots  of  different  things,  but  they  are  all — men. 
Most  men  aren't." 

She  became  conscious  that  something  was  drag- 
ging. There  was  a  delay:  a  pause.  Where  was 
Scott?  The  magistrate  had  gone  into  the  store: 
the  miners  were  following.  She  waited  for  him  to 
fetch  her.     What  was  keeping  him? 

Nothing  much,  apparently:  he  was  coming  now — 
she  could  hear  him  hurrying  along  the  verandah 
from  the  Carters'  room.    He  arrived  almost  out  of 


GUINEA  GOLD  273 

breath,  glowing  and  gay  as  became  a  bridegroom, 
dressed  in  a  white  suit  exactly  like  the  magistrate's, 
and  evidently  borrowed  from  him.  He  had  a  white 
orchid  in  his  buttonhole:  his  hair  was  brushed 
smartly,  and  he  trod  as  though  the  floor  were  india- 
rubber. 

"  You're  to  take  my  arm,"  he  laughed,  "  and  I'm 
to  lead  you  into  the  store,  and  you're  not  to  dare  to 
be  nervous,  and  you're  to  speak  up  and  be  sensible. 
That's  what  Her  Majesty  the  Queen  of  North-West 
Island  says.  Come,  Charmian !  Isn't  it  a  lark,  get- 
ting married!  " 

He  took  her  by  the  arm,  and  ran  her  along  the 
verandah:  they  entered  the  store  at  a  gallop,  Char- 
mian laughing,  blushing,  and  remonstrating;  Scott 
with  a  flush  on  his  face,  and  shine  in  his  eyes,  and  a 
gaiety  about  his  whole  demeanour  that  made  him 
look  almost  as  though  he  had  drunk  of  some  stimu- 
lant more  earthly  than  the  pure  wine  of  happiness. 
But  most  of  the  people  in  the  store  had  seen  men 
married  before, — some  few  had  even  been  married 
themselves, — and  they  were  not  slow  to  recognise 
a  well-known  variety  of  bridegroom's  nervousness. 
As  for  Charmian,  who  had  been  crying  with  agita- 
tion and  doubt  only  an  hour  or  two  before,  she  was, 
and  looked,  as  calm  as  the  still  lagoons  of  the  Coral 
Sea. 

The  magistrate  married  them,  and  Mrs.  Carter, 
stepping  forward,  gave  the  bride  a  hearty  kiss,  al- 
most before  the  last  words  were  well  pronounced. 


274  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  Good  luck,  my  girl !  "  she  said. 

"  Good  luck!  "  echoed  shadowy  Tim,  taking  the 
bridegroom's   hand. 

"  Good  luck!  Good  luck!  "  shouted  the  miners, 
pressing  round  and  shaking  hands  freely.  They 
raised  a  cheer  for  Scott,  and  a  cheer  for  his  bride, 
and  shouted  themselves  nearly  hoarse.  And  then 
big  Mike,  the  man  who  was  the  recognised  leader 
of  the  Kikiramu  field,  suddenly  produced  a  bag  made 
of  white  moleskin,  and  tied  up  closely  at  the  mouth, 
and  handed  it  to  Charmian. 

11  Just  a  little  present,  to  show  our  goodwill,"  he 
said.  Letting  go  the  bag  as  if  it  were  red-hot,  he 
turned  tail  and  bolted  out  of  the  store,  followed  by 
all  the  other  men,  who  instantly  assumed  the  de- 
meanour of  criminals  fleeing  from  a  crime. 

"  Hand  over,  you'll  drop  it!"  ordered  Mrs. 
Carter,  taking  the  bag  from  Charmian's  fingers. 
"  Tim,  there's  a  good  twenty  ounces  in  that!  " 

"  Oh,  George,  how  can  we  take  it?"  remon- 
strated Charmian,  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  From  those 
few  men — when  we've  so  much — all  that  great  par- 
cel of  gold — and  most  of  them  haven't  done  any- 
thing like  so  well !  " 

Scott  looked  rather  odd  for  a  moment,  and  then 
burst  out  laughing,  somewhat  over-loudly. 

"  Don't  let  that  turn  your  hair  grey,  sweetheart," 
he  said.  "  We'll  have  to  take  it,  anyhow.  They 
would  never  forgive  us  if  we  didn't." 

"  Well,  will  you  give  them  our  thanks — our  very, 


GUINEA  GOLD  275 

very  best  thanks?"  asked  Charmian  of  Mrs. 
Carter. 

"  I  will,  certainly,"  said  the  Queen,  with  her 
queenliest  manner. 

"  And  I'll  take  the  gold  off  of  you  this  minute, 
and  lock  it  up,"  said  the  unexpected  Carter,  grab- 
bing at  the  bag  and  disappearing  like  a  vision. 

The  breakfast  was  over:  the  miners  (who  had 
come  back  after  all)  were  dispersing. 

"Time  we  started  on  our  wedding-tour:  put  on 
your  hat,  Charmian,"  suggested  the  bridegroom. 

While  the  bride  was  absent  in  her  room,  the  three 
in  the  store  (Carter  having  returned)  put  their 
heads  together  and  talked.  Charmian  caught  a 
word  or  two  as  she  came  in  again. 

"  Don't  tell  her,"  was  what  she  heard. 

"  Of  course  not,"  answered  Scott.  Then  he 
turned  to  meet  her,  and  gave  her  his  arm,  and  to- 
gether they  went  down  the  track  leading  to  the  log 
ladder,  and  the  flumes  and  the  riverbed,  and  the 
little  bungalow  house  away  alone  in  the  forest. 

11  Tui !  Tui !  O-tui  O  !  "  sang  the  happy  bird  in 
the  valley,  calling  to  its  love. 

Above,  in  the  store,  there  was  trouble. 

While  Charmian  was  dozing  on  the  verandah, 
waiting  for  the  wedding-party  to  assemble,  Mrs. 
Carter  had  gone  into  her  room,  intending  to  take 
away  the  small,  weighty  parcel  of  gold  that  had  lain 
underneath  the  bed  for  a  day  and  a  night,  and  put  it 


276  GUINEA  GOLD 

in  the  safe.  She  stooped  down  and  put  her  hands 
round  it.  It  did  not  come  up ;  it  seemed  appallingly 
heavy.  She  gave  another  tug  and  another  heave, 
and  now  it  lifted  with  a  vengeance,  ripping  some- 
thing as  it  came  away,  and  sending  her  staggering 
back  against  the  wall. 

She  knew  in  an  instant  what  had  happened.  This 
was  no  soft,  creaking  parcel  of  gold-dust  that  she 
held  in  her  hands:  it  was  a  hard,  irregular  bundle 
of  metal,  roughly  sewn  up,  and  not  half  as  heavy 
as  it  ought  to  have  been.  A  bit  of  fishing  line  passed 
through  the  floor,  and  a  rip  in  the  canvas  of  the 
parcel,  told  her  why  it  had  not  rolled  away  when 
she  kicked  it,  once  and  again,  to  feel  that  it  was 
there. 

Strong  woman  though  she  was,  she  felt  sick  at  the 
greatness  of  the  disaster.  Three  thousand  pounds 
gone  at  a  stroke !  And  in  her  house !  Much  she 
feared,  too,  that  it  was  her  own  fault  for  neglecting 
to  have  the  gold  put  away  in  the  safe. 

She  tore  open  the  canvas,  and  out  dropped  a  num- 
ber of  tomahawk  heads,  falling  on  the  bed  with  a 
thump. 

The  eye  of  Mrs.  Carter  lightened  ominously. 

"  This  is  no  native's  work!  "  she  said.  "  I  don't 
know  who's  the  skunk  we've  got  in  camp,  but  if  once 
the  men  catch  him  ..." 

She  paused,  on  a  long  stride  doorwards,  with  the 
ripped  canvas  in  her  hand.  She  hung  irresolute  for  a 
moment,  then  laid  the  stuff  down,  and  walked  quietly 


GUINEA  GOLD  277 

out  to  the  back,  where  Tim  was  packing  his  swag 
ready  for  the  afternoon. 

"Here!"  she  said.  "Something's  happened — 
but  keep  it  quiet  till  the  wedding's  over :  no  use  up- 
setting her  again." 

"  It's  the  gold,"  said  Tim  instantly. 

Mrs.   Carter  swallowed  in  her  throat. 

"  It  is.  I  suppose  now  you'll  be  crying,  '  I  told 
you  so,'  for  the  rest  of  your  natural.  You  may  as 
well  be  right  once  in  a  lifetime,  for  fear  people  might 
forget  you'd  any  sense  at  all."  She  was  greatly 
agitated:  her  neck  worked  under  the  low  collar  of 
her  dress,  and  her  breath  came  quick. 

Tim  finished  the  task  of  ramming  down  a  pair  of 
boots  on  the  top  of  a  flannel  shirt. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  straightening  himself,  "  who 
done  it?     When  did  it  go?  " 

"  It's  well  to  be  you,  that  can  take  it  like  as  if  it 
was  a  thruppenny  bit  disappearing  off  of  a  collection 
plate  in  church!  "  said  Mrs.  Carter  scornfully.  "  It 
was  a  white  man  stole  it,  and  none  of  your  Kiwais. 
When  I  went  to  lift  the  parcel,  there  was  nothing  but 
a  lot  of  old  tomahawk  heads  sewed  up  in  the  canvas, 
and  tied  to  the  floor,  so  that  it  wouldn't  roll  away 
when  I  kicked  it." 

Carter  fastened  up  the  top  of  his  swag  and  went 
into  the  bedroom,  followed  by  his  wife.  He  pulled 
out  the  bed,  and  examined  the  stick  floor. 

"  Look  at  that,"  he  said,  lifting  half  a  dozen  of 
the  saplings  that  had  been  cut  away  from  the  rest 


278  GUINEA  GOLD 

by  the  simple  process  of  severing  their  lashings  of 
bark  fibre.  "  There's  how  he  done  it.  He  was 
standing  under  the  house  in  the  dark,  and  seen  you 
carrying  the  parcel  about,  and  got  it  when  she  was 
asleep  at  night,  most  likely." 

"  Who  got  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Carter  irritably. 
u  You'd  make  a  flash  detective,  wouldn't  you?  " 

"  No  use  performing  about  it,"  commented  Car- 
ter. "  We're  trying  to  find  out  who.  When  did  you 
bring  it  to  me  to  weigh — about  midday  yesterday, 
wasn't  it?  " 

11  Yes,  about — talk  quietly,  man,  or  she'll  hear 
you  outside  there." 

"  Then  she  took  ill,  and  you  was  working  over 
her  all  afternoon  and  half  the  evening.  And  the 
men  was  all  over  the  place,  buying  stores,  and  hav- 
ing drinks,  and  annoying  of  me  to  tell  them  when 
there'd  be  more  stores  up  by  the  Dragon-Fly,  which 
I  didn't  know,  no  more  than  a  dead  Kiwai. 
And " 

"  You  needn't  say  it  was  Mike,  or  Riddick,  or 
any  one  of  the  lot;  it  just  isn't  in  them,  and  no  one 
knows  that  better  than  you,"  declared  Mrs.  Carter 
in  a  fierce  whisper. 

"  I  didn't  say  it  was  anyone,  but  we've  got  to  think 
about  it,  seeing  it  was  our  house  it  was  lost  in," 
maintained  Carter.  "  I'm  going  on  about  yester- 
day. .  .  .  Then  them  carriers  that  belonged  to  no- 
body came  in " 

He  stopped  suddenly. 


GUINEA  GOLD  279 

"  Ah !  "  said  his  wife  sharply.     "  One  of  those 

boys " 

"  It  wasn't  any  boy,"  persisted  Carter.    "  It " 


11  If  it  wasn't,  they  know  something  about  it,  and 
I'll  have  it  out  of  them,  or  knock  their  blooming 
heads  off!  "  declared  Mrs.  Carter  in  the  same  fierce 
whisper.    In  a  moment  she  was  gone. 

Carter  sat  down  and  employed  himself  cutting 
up  stick  tobacco  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  His  face 
was  devoid  of  all  expression,  but  he  listened.  By 
and  by,  from  the  yard  at  the  back,  there  came  the 
howl  of  a  frightened  native,  and  the  sound  of  Mrs. 
Carter's  voice  raised  in  rapid  and  threatening  speech. 
Afterwards  was  silence. 

She  came  back  like  a  human  whirlwind,  and 
dragged  her  husband  away  into  their  own  room, 
panting. 

"  Tim  that — that "    She  could  hardly  speak. 

«  The  cook " 

"  You  mean  the  feller  that  came  up  from  Samarai, 
and  went  off  prospecting  after?  " 

"  Yes !  It  was  his  carriers — he  came  down  from 
Cripps'  Reef  a  day  or  two  after  Scott,  and  got  in 
just  at  sundown,  before  those  boys — yesterday!  No 
one  saw  him  come  in,  and  the  boys  think  he  got 
bushed  somewhere  or  other.  Bushed?  No  fear — 
he  got  in  here  when  the  lamps  was  lit,  and  saw  you 
and  me  with  the  gold.  And  he  sneaked  under  the 
house  after,  and  cut  the  lashings  of  the  floor,  and 
took  the  swag  through  and  emptied  it,  and  put  that 


280  GUINEA  GOLD 

iron  in,  and — and — my  God,  Tim,  if  I  had  him  here 
I'd  cut  the  hide  off  of  him!" 

"  I've  no  doubt  you  would,  old  woman,"  agreed 
Carter  soothingly,  "  but  that  don't  do  us  any  good 
now.  My  oath,  I  never  liked  the  fellow,  and  there 
was  some  yarn  about  his  having  been  chucked  out 
of  the  store  he  was  in,  in  Samarai,  for  stealing. 
He's  got  it,  all  right.  He's  off  to  catch  the  Dragon- 
Fly  with  it,  too,  I'll  lay,  but  he  won't,  because  I'll 
send  one  of  them  Yassi-Yassi  boys  after  him,  to  take 
a  letter  to  the  ingineer." 

"  You  don't  savvy  any  more  than  a  Yassi-Yassi 
boy  yourself."  Mrs.  Carter  was  recovering  her 
spirits  with  the  prospect  of  regained  superiority 
over  her  husband.  "  What  do  you  think  he'd  want, 
going  down  by  the  launch,  with  you  and  me  ready  to 
stop  him  the  minute  it  was  found  out?  No  fear. 
He'll  hide  himself  a  bit,  and  then  get  a  canoe  some- 
where, or  make  a  raft,  and  go  down  the  Kikiramu 
by  himself.  It's  risky,  but  the  feller  that  carried 
off  that  swag  won't  stop  at  .    .    ." 

"  What's  the  matter  now?  " 

"  You  wait."  The  whirlwind  blew  itself  out  into 
the  yard  again,  with  a  frightful  fluttering  of  incensed 
petticoats,  reversed  its  course,  and  blew  itself 
back.  Mrs.  Carter,  out  of  breath,  dropped  into  a 
chair. 

"  I  knew  it!  "  she  panted.  "  One  of  the  boys  is 
missing." 

"Missing?"     Carter  had  finished  cutting  up  his 


GUINEA  GOLD  281 

tobacco,  and  was  packing  it  into  his  pipe  with  his 
little  finger-tip.     "  Where  is  he?  " 

"  If  I  knew  that,  I'd  know  where  that  little  ser- 
pent, Clay,  was.  I  just  remembered  that  the  gold 
weighed  over  fifty  pounds,  avoirdupois,  and  that  a 
man  loaded  with  that  couldn't  carry  his  tucker,  un- 
less he  was  a  sight  more  of  a  man  than  that — two- 
faced  centipede  was.  I  asked  if  they  was  all  there, 
and  the  boys  says  no,  there  was  one  of  them  come 
in  with  the  rest,  but  he  strayed  off  somewhere,  about 
dark,  when  it  was  raining  a  lot,  and  they  never  saw 
him  again.  Of  course,  like  natives,  they  didn't  think 
it  good  enough  to  mention  such  a  trifle  till  they  was 
asked!" 

She  gasped  and  fanned  herself  for  a  minute  or 
two,  Carter  meantime  stolidly  smoking.  The  miners 
were  gathering  in  the  yard  outside  for  the  wedding, 
and  Scott's  footsteps  sounded,  coming  in. 

"  We've  got  to  tell  him,"  sighed  Mrs.  Carter. 

"  You  tell  him,  old  woman,"  said  Carter  placidly. 
"  He'll  be  proper  vexed." 

The  Queen  went  out  with  a  somewhat  heavy  step, 
and  returned  by  and  by. 

"  He  was  a  bit  cut  up,"  she  said,  frowning  at  the 
world  in  general.  "  He  wouldn't  allow  it  was  our 
faults:  said  it  was  hers,  and  he  thought  he  could 
manage  to  forgive  her  that  much,  specially  to-day. 
She's  not  to  be  told,  now  or  any  time,  he  says:  he 
thinks  they'll  get  back  the  gold  all  right,  and,  any- 
how, she  isn't  to  be  bothered.    Bothered?    He  don't 


282  GUINEA  GOLD 

know  much.  She'll  never  bother.  Some  women 
would  want  to  know  what  had  become  of  a  parcel  of 
that  kind  if  they  didn't  see  it  about,  but  she  won't 
never  think  about  it  again,  now  she's  going  to  get 
him:  she'll  just  take  it  for  granted  he  has  it.  I've 
no  patience  with  her — never  had — she's  as  silly  as 
they  make  them,  which,  I  suppose,  is  why  all  the  men 
in  New  Guinea  is  half  mad  about  her!  " 

Tim,  declining  to  be  drawn  into  a  controversy  on 
the  cause  of  attraction  between  the  sexes,  sucked 
at  his  pipe. 

"  Once  the  wedding's  over,"  said  Mrs.  Carter, 
a  we'll  tell  all  the  men,  and  rake  the  matter  right 
to  the  bottom.  But  there  can't  be  no  upsetting 
things  now." 

"  No,  old  woman,  so  put  your  best  bonnet  on  and 
come,"  suggested  her  smaller  half.  "  The  warden's 
on  the  way." 

And  the  wedding,  as  we  have  told,  took  place. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

There  was  a  brown  house  in  the  forest.  Its 
thatch  was  brown  sago-palm  leaf.  Its  walls  were 
peeled  brown  sapling,  set  close,  and  laced  together 
with  strings  of  brown  bark  fibre.  Its  floors  were 
brown  sago-palm  sheath,  hard  and  slippery,  and 
springy  to  the  foot.  The  doorway  was  closed  with 
curtains  of  brown  sail-cloth.  Through  the  chinks 
among  the  saplings  and  the  palm-sheaths  light  sifted 
softly,  amber-coloured  and  dim.  The  gabled  pitch 
of  the  roof,  high  above  the  branch-woven  partitions 
of  the  rooms,  was  almost  dark. 

It  was  a  house  of  dreams.  There  was  no  sound 
there  but  the  soft  pouring  of  a  little  waterfall  away 
in  the  green  of  the  forest.  There  was  no  light  but 
the  honey-coloured  glow  that  came  through  half- 
transparent  walls.  There  was  nothing  beyond — no 
world,  no  thunder  of  great  cities,  no  murder  nor 
unrest.  Sea  upon  sea,  river  upon  river,  range  upon 
range,  the  remotenesses,  mysteries,  obstacles  of  the 
unknown  lands  rose  round  the  little  cottage  and 
cloistered  it  in. 

You  could  hear  your  own  thoughts  in  this  small 
brown  house  that  lay  clasped  like  a  nut  in  the  great 
green  hands  of  the  forest.     You  could  loose  the 

283 


284  GUINEA  GOLD 

orchestra  of  your  strangest  fancies,  and  listen  to 
the  wild  Valkyrie-ride  they  made,  beneath  the  umber 
gloom  of  the  gabled  roof  that  had  never  echoed  to 
any  sound  but  that  of  the  leaves,  and  the  rain,  and 
the  waterfall.  You  could  lie  in  the  stream  of  cool 
air  between  the  doors,  and  sleep  softly,  with  the 
scented  breeze  of  the  forest  pouring  over  your  face, 
so  that  you  might  dream  of  secret  islands  and 
strange,  uncharted  seas,  and  wonderful,  unvisited 
valleys,  and  magic  cities  hid  among  remote  dim 
mountain  peaks.  .  .  .  The  winds  of  the  Never- 
Never  can  work  strange  wizardry  on  sleep-loosed 
brains :  who  knows  the  wild  countries  knows  this. 

It  was  a  house  of  dreams,  and  of  a  dream — the 
dream  that  lies  deep  hid  in  lovers'  hearts,  of  some 
exquisite  secret  place,  shut  from  the  world,  with 
leaves  and  water  and  the  song  of  birds  about  it:  a 
little  place,  fit  to  hold  the  happiness  that  is  so  much 
too  great  for  palaces.  And  in  the  little  secret  house, 
Charmian  and  George,  hand-fast  at  length,  were 
living  through  that  which  not  one  life  in  twenty 
thousand  knows — a  dream  come  true. 

She  was  more  beautiful  than  he  had  thought. 
She  was  dearer  than  he  had  ever  imagined.  He 
told  her  so  many  times  a  day — the  hard-bitten  Bel- 
fastman,  who  buried  his  emotions  as  men  bury  their 
dead,  beneath  a  face  of  stone.  He  told  her  every- 
thing in  his  life.  He  told  her  secrets  that  were 
those  of  other  people,  just  as  all  the  world's  best 
and  greatest  men  have  told  the  things  they  should 


GUINEA  GOLD  285 

not  tell,  to  the  one  only  woman.  He  told  her  that 
he  would  die  for  her,  and  that  no  man  had  ever 
loved  as  he  did:  and  the  outworn  words  seemed 
made  anew  for  him  as  he  spoke  them. 

He  saw  the  sunrise  and  the  sunset  with  her,  and 
the  miracle-play  of  the  thunderstorm;  and  all  these 
things  were  new  created,  here  in  the  forest,  for  her 
and  him. 

As  for  Charmian,  the  woman  made  for  love,  she 
spoke  but  little.  No  well-informed,  capable,  lecture- 
nourished  woman  in  the  world  but  would  have  felt 
a  fine  contempt  for  her  conversation,  for  her  lack  of 
interest  in  serious  matters,  for  the  lazy  way  in 
which  she  lay  about  the  little  brown  house,  singing 
a  little,  reading  a  little  poetry,  dreaming  a  great 
deal.  She  seemed  to  have  sponged  out  past  and 
future  from  her  existence;  she  never  spoke  of  either. 
Heart  and  soul,  she  had  minted  herself  into  a  single 
coin,  and  flung  it  royally  upon  the  board  of  life. 
The  game  was  played. 

In  the  very  midst  of  his  new  unbelievable  happi- 
ness that  thought  struck  coldly  upon  Scott.  It  shut 
the  future  from  his  mind  too.  He  could  not  picture 
the  years  ahead.  He  did  not  know  what  was  to  come 
after.  Beyond  the  brown  house  in  the  forest — and 
a  darkly  looming  separation,  when  he  must  go  back 
to  the  Iri — and  a  vague  thought  of  a  return  to 
civilisation,  somehow,  some  day — he  could  see  noth- 
ing. 

He  told  all  this  to  Charmian,  of  course,  and  she 


286  GUINEA  GOLD 

laughed  at  him,  and  got  up  from  her  lounge  to  dance 
in  a  streak  of  sun  on  the  sagging  palm-sheath  floor. 
She  whistled  lightly  for  herself  as  she  danced:  no 
bird  in  the  forest  fluted  so  sweet  and  true.  She 
stopped  whistling  to  laugh,  and  stopped  laughing  to 
dance  again,  her  hair  flying  loose  as  she  swung  from 
foot  to  foot.  She  seemed  the  very  spirit  of  the 
passing  hour. 

"  You  dear  fool,  don't  try  to  wake,"  was  all  she 
would  say.  "  You  might  wake  me.  Keep  the 
dream." 

"  But,  Charmian "  Scott  began. 

Charmian  was  singing  now,  in  a  very  soft  and 
sweet  soprano: 


'I  hold  within  my  hand 
Grains  of  the  golden  sand.  .  .  . 
Ah,  why  can  I  not  grasp 
Them  with  a  tighter  clasp? 
Ah,  why  can  I  not  save 
One  from  the  pitiless  wave? 
All  that  we  see  or  seem 
Is  but  a  dream  within  a  dream 


. 


"Where  did  you  get  that?"  asked  Scott,  struck 
by  the  wild,  sweet  air  and  strange  words. 

"  It's  an  old,  old  song.  A  poem  of  Edgar  Allan 
Poe's,  I  think." 

She  had  sunk  down  on  the  floor  now,  with  all  her 
soft  white  draperies  billowing  round  her,  and  was 
sitting  with  her  chin  propped  on  her  folded  hands. 
A  lance  of  the  westering  sun  stabbed  through  her 


GUINEA  GOLD  287 

fleecy  hair,  and  turned  it  to  nets  and  webs  of  gold. 

"  I  don't  want  to  wake,"  she  said,  her  amber  eyes 
set  on  something  very  far  away.  "  I  shall  wake 
some  day,  and  then  .    .    . " 

"What  then?"  asked  Scott,  drawing  a  lock  of 
the  beautiful  hair  through  his  hand. 

"  I  .  .  .  don't  .  .  .  know,"  said  Charmian  slowly. 
Her  eyes  grew  dark,  and  she  turned  to  hide  her 
face  in  his  arms. 

"  Take  care  of  me !  "  she  said,  with  a  little  shiver. 
u  The  world  makes  me  afraid." 

Since  they  came  to  the  little  brown  house — he 
scarcely  knew  whether  it  was  a  week,  or  a  year 
ago — Scott  had  written  a  letter  and  received  one. 

The  letter  he  wrote  was  penned  with  his  very 
heart's  blood.  It  was  to  Janie,  and  it  told  her  that 
he  was  false  to  her. 

The  cold  airs  of  the  North  blew  on  his  face  as  he 
wrote.  He  tasted  the  salt  tang  of  the  breeze  from 
Belfast  Lough:  he  saw  the  purple  profile  of  Cave 
Hill,  lying  like  a  giant  asleep  above  the  roaring, 
many-windowed  mills.  He  smelt  the  odour  of 
crushed  grass  along  the  tow-path  of  the  Lagan,  where 
Janie  and  he  had  walked.  He  heard  the  grinding 
cringe  of  the  train  as  it  rounded  the  curve  leading 
into  the  station  of  Portrush,  where  Janie  spent  her 
holidays,  and  where  he  used  to  run  down  to  see 
her.  .  .  .  The  very  names  of  the  stations  rang  in 
his  head  like  bells.     Ballymena — a  long  way  off: 


288  GUINEA  GOLD 

one  smoked,  and  read,  and  looked  at  one's  watch. 
Glarryford — one  was  coming  near  her  now.  Bally- 
money — only  three  stations — she  would  be  putting 
on  her  things  and  leaving  the  house.  Coleraine — 
one  got  eager  and  excited  now,  and  could  not  keep 
still:  the  train  seemed  to  scream  with  joy  as  it 
rushed  out  under  the  bridge.  Portstewart — oh,  the 
look  of  the  little  copse  by  the  rails,  and  the  bending 
trees,  that  began  to  feel  the  push  of  the  wild  sea- 
wind!  and  the  sheer  delight  of  having  to  give  up 
one's  ticket,  and  know  that  it  was  done  with,  and  that 
one  was  all  but  there !  Then  the  last  seven-minutes' 
run  that  was  so  long,  and  the  strong,  pure  breath  of 
the  Atlantic  beating  in  at  the  window,  and  the  blue, 
blue  sea  above  the  green  shadows,  and  the  last 
swinging  curve  of  the  railway  round  to  the  bridge, 
and  the  little  grey,  sandy,  windy  town  lying  down 
below  .  .  .  and  now  one  ran  smoothly,  shutting  off 
speed,  along  the  inward  platform,  with  one's  head 
thrust  as  far  out  of  the  window  as  it  would  go — and 
there,  with  her  still,  sweet  face  scanning  the  rows  of 
carriage  doors  .   .    . 

Something  choked  in  Scott's  throat.    Never,  never 
again!   .    .    . 

The  fiery  green  of  the  forest,  seen  through  the 
open  door,  swam  like  an  emerald  sea  before  his 
eyes.  He  set  down  the  pen  for  a  moment,  and 
looked  back  at  sleeping  Charmian,  where  she  lay 
upon  her  long  deck-lounge,  beyond  all  telling  fair. 
To  pay  for  one's  happiness  with  one's  own  pain — 


GUINEA  GOLD  289 

that  was  a  feather-stroke.  But  to  pay  with 
Janie's.  .    .    . 

Scott  took  up  his  pen  again,  and  with  tightened 
lips  wrote  himself  down — untrue. 

He  did  not  offer  to  send  her  half  his  fortune, 
though  he  would  have  been  glad  indeed  to  be  allowed 
this  much  relief.  He  knew  that  no  power  on  earth 
would  ever  make  Janie  take  a  farthing  from  his 
hands.  She  would  post  him  back  his  ring,  and  re- 
turn his  letters :  perhaps  without  even  a  word — that 
would  be  like  Janie.  She  would  sell  the  few  things 
she  had  collected  to  help  with  the  furnishing  of  their 
home.  She  would  wear  out  the  pretty  things  she 
was  gathering  for  her  trousseau — another  girl 
might  hoard  them  or  give  them  away,  but  Janie 
would  wear  them  with  her  teeth  set,  and  defy  her- 
self to  care.  She  would  remain  in  her  school,  and 
go  on  teaching.  There  would  never  be  anyone  in 
his  place.  He  would  never  go  home  to  Ireland 
again:  if  he  died,  she  would  not  hear  of  it,  and 
when  the  little  burying-ground  above  the  windy 
White  Rock  Road  unclosed  its  gates  to  take  in  the 
woman  who  was  to  have  slept  by  his  side,  in  death 
and  in  life — he  would  not  know. 

So — that  was  ended:  the  letter  was  written, 
signed,  and  closed.  To-morrow  a  boy  would  take 
it  away,  down  to  the  landing-place,  to  await  the 
next  run  of  the  steam-launch  down  the  river.  The 
bullet  would  have  sped  on  its  twelve-thousand-mile 
course,  to  find  its  deadly  end  in  a  woman's  heart. 


290  GUINEA  GOLD 

The  letter  he  received  was  from  Anderson. 

Dence  had  brought  it  down  with  him,  but  no  one 
had  heard  anything  about  it  for  several  days,  be- 
cause the  messenger  was  lying  drunk  in  his  camp  by 
the  river,  a  case  of  whiskey  at  his  side.  Carter  had 
gone  away  up  the  Iri  with  all  the  other  men  on  the 
Kikiramu;  the  Dragon-Fly  provisions  had  come  at 
last,  and  not  a  miner  would  stay  on  the  field  an  in- 
stant after  the  food  arrived,  with  such  an  El  Dorado 
as  Cripps'  Reef  within  three-days'  march.  Mrs. 
Carter,  left  alone  in  a  deserted  valley  with  a  few 
house-boys,  had  gone  down  to  see  how  Dence  was 
faring,  found  him  on  the  verge  of  delirium  tremens, 
and  had  him  carried  up  to  the  store,  where,  helped 
by  the  natives,  she  tended  him  with  the  matter-of- 
fact  kindness  of  the  bush.  She  discovered  the  letter 
in  his  clothes,  and  sent  it  down  to  Scott.  It  ran  as 
follows : — 

"  Dear  George, — I  have  been  working  hard  at 
the  reef,  with  all  the  boys  to  help  me,  and  Dence 
until  to-day,  when  he  leaves,  I  do  not  know  what  for. 
I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  it  shows  signs  of  pinching 
out,  but  we  have  done  well,  and  have  not  much  cause 
for  complaint.  Only  I  am  sorry  for  the  men  who 
will  come  up  here  by  and  by  and  have  their  trouble 
for  their  pains.  We  followed  down  and  worked  out 
the  shoot  of  gold  for  about  thirty  feet,  and  it  was 
gradually  getting  smaller  and  wedge-shaped,  and  in 
another  eight  feet  pinched  to  a  vein  about  eight 
inches  wide.  I  think  there  is  a  chance  of  its  making 
again,  but  it  is  only  a  chance,  and  we  have  certainly 


GUINEA  GOLD  291 

got  the  best  out  of  it.  It  will  pay  us  to  keep  on  at  it 
a  few  months  longer,  I  daresay,  but  there  is  not 
going  to  be  much  for  anyone  else.  You  might  show 
this  to  any  men  who  come  up  while  you  are  down. 
It  will  not  stop  them  coming,  but  they  may  as  well 
know  what  to  expect.  As  Dence  will  tell  you,  Clay 
started  for  the  store  a  day  before  he  did.  There 
was  no  need  to  keep  him  once  you  had  got  down  to 
file  our  claim.  He  prospected  about  to  see  if  there 
was  anything  for  him  to  take  up,  but  could  not  find  a 
colour,  so  he  goes  back  as  poor  as  he  came.  There 
are  eight  of  the  men  from  the  Kikiramu  here  now, 
allthat  could  get  tucker  from  Carter,  but  so  far 
none  of  them  have  found  anything,  and  they  are 
chewing  the  rag  about  it  above  a  bit.  They  brought 
some  news  from  the  Kikiramu;  it  seems  you  have 
ladies  there  now.  Well,  I  don't  want  to  hurry  you, 
but  when  you  get  back  I  will  not  be  sorry,  for  this 
reef  is  taking  some  work,  and  Dence  might  not  re- 
turn for  some  time.  I  suppose  you  will  send  the 
tucker  up  in  any  case.  Look  after  your  swag;  I  don't 
know  that  you  did  well  in  taking  it  down  so  soon. — 
I  remain,  yours  sincerely, 

"  John  Anderson." 

Scott  read  the  letter  alone  in  the  little  living-room 
of  the  hut.  Charmian  had  taken  one  of  her  rare 
fits  of  housewifely  energy,  and  was  out  in  the  kitchen 
teaching  the  boy  how  to  make  tinned-oyster  patties, 
which  she  knew  very  little  about  herself.  There 
was  nobody  near:  the  waterfall  rustled  pleasantly  in 
the  distance,  and  a  wet-smelling  breeze  blew  in  at 
the  door. 

He  frowned  a  little  over  the  last  sentence.     If 


292  GUINEA  GOLD 

Dence  had  only  remembered  to  give  him  the  letter ! 
Knowing  Anderson  as  he  did,  he  would  have  been 
sure  that  the  man  who  wasted  no  words,  and  said 
what  he  meant,  had  not  put  in  that  last  sentence 
merely  to  fill  up  the  sheet.  One  would  have  been 
on  one's  guard,  whereas  now    .    .   . 

There  was  another  eight  hundred  ounces  of  his  up 
in  the  camp  by  Cripps'  Reef:  he  was  glad  he  had 
not  brought  that  down.  The  other  men's  shares 
were  there,  too.  Anderson  meant  to  take  down  the 
gold  under  his  own  supervision  later  on.  He  must 
have  seen  or  heard  something  that  made  him  dis- 
trust Clay's  sudden  departure:  hence  the  warning. 
If  it  had  only  come  in  time! 

Well,  it  seemed  that  the  gold  was  gone  for  good. 
He  had  had  a  message  or  two  from  the  miners  be- 
fore they  left  for  the  Iri,  telling  him  of  the  efforts 
that  had  been  made  to  find  the  thief.  Men  and  boys 
had  scoured  the  bush  in  all  directions:  messages  had 
been  sent  down  to  the  landing-stage  to  warn  the 
engineer  of  the  Dragon-Fly  agairist  taking  Clay  on 
board.  Nothing  had  been  heard,  seen,  or  guessed 
of  him.  He  seemed  to  have  vanished  off  the  face 
of  the  earth. 

Some  of  the  men  believed  that  he  had  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  gold  at  all,  and  that  he  had  simply 
got  bushed  on  the  way  down,  and  met  his  death 
from  hunger,  or  that  he  had  been  taken  by  an  alli- 
gator when  crossing  a  stream.  Most  of  the  miners 
swam  or  waded  across  alligator-infested  rivers  with 


GUINEA  GOLD  293 

absolute  callousness.  They  reckoned,  they  said, 
that  the  brutes  would  not  touch  them :  and  the  brutes 
did  not, — generally, — which  was  quite  good  enough 
for  a  New  Guinea  miner.  But  Clay  might  have  got 
into  a  river  in  the  dark,  when  everyone  knows  that 
the  chance  of  disaster  is  infinitely  increased.  Or 
he  might  have  been  picked  off  from  the  bush  by  some 
of  the  Kariva  bowmen.  Or  again — the  most  popu- 
lar theory  of  all — he  might  be  sneaking  down  the  Iri 
in  a  native  canoe  with  the  missing  carrier,  camping 
in  quiet  spots  at  night,  and  keeping  a  good  lookout 
for  the  Dragon-Fly  in  order  to  avoid  her.  That 
would  be  easily  done.  He  could  dodge  into  the 
bush  on  the  banks  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  her 
engine,  leaving  nothing  for  anyone  to  see  but  an 
ordinary  canoe  tied  up  to  the  bank,  apparently  in 
waiting  for  some  painted  and  feathered  owner  who 
had  gone  off  spearing  pig.  One  might  pass  him  a 
dozen  times  and  never  know  it.        * 

The  party  that  believed  the  gold  had  been  taken 
by  some  shrewd  Fly  River  native,  and  buried  to 
await  the  termination  of  the  thief's  indentures,  grew 
stronger  as  time  went  on.  Clay  seemed  to  be  lost. 
The  Dragon-Fly  engineer  had  seen  nothing  of  him : 
the  natives  had  no  news.  Some  chance  there  might 
be  of  eventually  getting  back  the  gold,  if  the  thief 
tried  to  carry  it  off  all  in  one  swag,  but  the  miners 
thought  that  a  Kiwai  would  have  sense  enough  to 
know  that  he  ought  to  split  it  up.  For  the  present, 
at  all  events,  there  seemed  no  hope. 


294  GUINEA  GOLD 

One  afternoon,  Mrs.  Carter,  who  thought  that 
the  honeymoon  seclusion  had  lasted  long  enough, 
appeared  at  the  little  brown  house. 

Charmian  was  delighted,  and  ran  down  the  steps 
to  welcome  Mrs.  Carter,  who  looking  older  than 
usual,  and  a  little  tired,  stalked  along  the  verandah, 
with  all  her  usual  dignity,  and  entered  the  sitting- 
room  with  that  effect  of  a  ship  in  full  sail  that  always 
seemed  to  distinguish  her  comings  and  goings.  She 
was  rather  elaborately  attired,  for  the  Kikiramu,  in 
a  grey  tea-gown,  well  pinned  up  over  her  stout  boots, 
and  she  wore  her  best  hat  and  her  best  manners. 

"  So  your  husband's  out,"  she  said,  scanning  the 
rough  furniture  as  though  she  thought  Scott  might 
be  hidden  under  a  canvas  chair,  or  at  the  back  of 
a  packing-case  sideboard. 

"  Yes;  he  went  to  see  if  he  couldn't  shoot  a  young 
wallaby  for  dinner  to-morrow,"  answered  the  bride. 

"  And  so  you've  cried  for  the  moon  and  got  it. 
Well,  my  girl,  that's  more  than  most  women  do," 
observed  Mrs.  Carter  composedly,  unpinning  her 
dress  as  she  sat.     "Hitting  it  off  all  right?" 

11  Yes,"  answered  Charmian  simply.  She  had  the 
gift,  rare  in  a  nervous  century,  of  sitting  perfectly 
still.  You  could  not  have  seen  the  light  waver  on 
her  hair  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  deck-lounge,  hands 
folded  and  eyes  looking  quietly  out  to  the  leaves 
and  the  sun. 

"  We'll  be  grass-widows  together  soon,  you  and 
I,"  went  on  the  other,     "  Scott  will  go  back  in  a 


GUINEA  GOLD  295 

few  days,  I  suppose.  Tim's  gone  this  week  and 
more.  I'm  stopping  to  look  after  what's  left  of  the 
store:  the  men  are  just  as  likely  as  not  to  come  back 
by  and  by.  I  reckon  you'd  better  come  up  to  me 
when  he  goes:  I'll  be  glad  of  your  company.  I  did 
reckon  to  give  Tim  a  bit  of  my  society  just  now, 
but " 

She  bit  down  a  sigh  and  fanned  herself  rapidly. 

"  I'm  sorry.  I  can't  stay  with  you,"  said  Char- 
mian,  "  but  I'm  going  with  George." 

"  Going  with  George?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Carter  in 
strong  italics.  "  Is  George  out  of  his  mind,  or  are 
you?" 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  answered  Charmian  coolly. 
"  He  isn't.  He  doesn't  know  about  it  yet:  he  thinks 
I'm  going  down  to  Port  Moresby."  ' 

"  And  you  mean  to  go  up  with  him?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well!  "  Mrs.  Carter,  for  once,  seemed  speech- 
less. 

"  I've  no  doubt,"  said  Charmian,  "  there  are  lots 
of  things  to  say  against  it — all  about  the  road,  and 
the  natives,  and  the  gold  rush,  and  so  on.  Of 
course  he'll  say  them.  But  I  sha'n't  mind.  I'll  just 
go  on  saying  that  I  mean  to  go,  till  he  gets  tired. 
Then  I  will  go.    That's  all." 

"  You're  changed,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  after  a 
silence.  M  Time  was,  not  so  long  ago,  you'd  do 
anything  anybody  told  you,  and  never  raise  a 
cheep." 


296  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  I  suppose  I  would  still,"  answered  the  other, 
uninterestedly.     "  It's  just  this  one  thing." 

u  And  what's  stiffened  your  back  so  about  that?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Carter. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  want  to  be  always  think- 
ing. There's  something  warns  me  .  .  .  tells  me 
.  .  .  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Let  me  make  you  some 
tea." 

"I  don't  mind:  it's  hot  walking,"  agreed  Mrs. 
Carter.  When  Charmian  came  back  she  returned 
for  a  moment  to  the  charge. 

"  Look  here,  my  girl,  don't  you  think  you'd  bet- 
ter give  it  best  about  the  Iri,  and  stop  on  here  with 
me?" 

"  Yes,  I'd  better,"  replied  Charmian,  pouring 
out  the  tea.    She  paused,  with  a  cup  in  her  hand. 

"  I'd  better — but  I'm  going,  all  the  same,"  she 
said. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

In  the  Iri  valley  the  rush  had  come  and  had  gone. 

Three  months  before  the  little  piece  of  flat  coun- 
try by  the  riverside  had  been  a  humming  town — 
here,  in  the  unknown  heart  of  New  Guinea,  days 
and  days  up  the  Kikiramu  in  the  launch,  days  and 
days  and  days  more  up  the  terrible  track  to  the  Iri. 
There  had  been  hundreds  of  adventurers  wound 
about  the  spot  where  the  golden  reef  had  been 
found — shopmen  and  lumberers,  and  dentists,  and 
horse-dealers,  and  West  Australian  miners,  and 
Queensland  "  cocky "  farmers,  and  broken  down 
remittance  men  and  A.B.'s  from  coasting  steamers, 
and  actors,  and  labourers,  and  bank  clerks.  They 
had  found  their  way  to  Port  Moresby,  almost  pen- 
niless, in  many  cases:  they  had  disregarded  all  the 
warnings  issued  by  a  Government  old  in  experience 
of  Papuan  gold  rushes,  and  once  more,  as  in  eighty- 
nine,  and  ninety-five,  the  cruel  country  had  taken 
its  deadly  toll. 

In  the  capital  they  had  camped  on  the  wet  ground 
under  Government  offices  and  hotels,  slinging  rough 
hammocks  to  the  supporting  piles  of  the  houses,  and 
living  anyhow,  as  best  they  could,  till  the  over- 
crowded launches  and  schooners  could  take  them 

297 


298  GUINEA  GOLD 

down  the  stormy  coast.  They  had  done  without 
mosquito  nets,  they  had  drunk  to  keep  away  malaria, 
they  had  eaten  the  little  township  bare  of  food,  and 
had  to  subsist  on  the  refuse  of  the  sold-out  stores. 
They  had  got  away  at  last,  without  carriers,  with- 
out proper  tents  or  provisions,  determined  to  show 
that  a  white  man  could  "  hump  his  swag  "  here,  as 
well  as  in  Australia.  .  .  .  And  they  had  paid:  the 
golden  Minotaur  had  had  his  meal  of  flesh.  On 
the  long  track  up  from  the  Kikiramu  they  had  lain 
down,  not  to  rise  again.  They  left  low,  stoneless 
graves  in  the  bush,  by  the  road  to  the  Iri.  They 
had  turned  and  crept  back  half-way,  cursing  the 
cruel  country  and  the  deadly  lure  of  gold.  They  had 
reached  the  field,  wrecks  of  men,  and  found  their, 
stock  of  money  done,  fever  gripping  them  hard,  and 
gold  in  paying  quantity  as  unattainable  as  in  the 
deeps  of  the  Coral  Sea.  There  was  nothing  on  the 
Iri  River  for  any  man  to  find,  save  a  poor  sprinkling 
of  alluvial  stuff  scarce  worth  working.  The  three 
discoverers  had  taken  all. 

Here  and  there  the  forest  had  been  feebly  cut 
into,  as  a  man  might  cut  himself  with  a  penknife 
into  a  load  of  hay.  Rough  tent-flies,  stretched  above 
platforms  of  sticks,  rose  by  scores  in  the  little  clear- 
ings: bush  houses,  made  of  poles  and  brushwood, 
stood  about  the  verges  of  the  reward  claim  owned 
by  the  discoverers.  The  clink  of  billy-cans  sounded 
down  by  the  tea-green  river:  thin  pillars  of  smoke 
spired  up  out  of  the  tops  of  the  forest,  in  a  hun- 


GUINEA  GOLD  299 

dred  different  places.  Of  nights,  in  Carter's  make- 
shift store,  there  was  drinking  and  card-playing, 
and  fighting  too  at  times.  But,  for  the  most  part, 
the  field  kept  a  dispirited  silence :  you  would  never 
have  thought  that  some  hundreds  of  adventurers 
from  all  corners  of  Australia  were  scattered  like 
deep-water  Crustacea  here  at  the  bottom  of  the  forest 
sea. 

Fever,  that  the  old  hands  knew  and  could  fight, 
attacked  the  defenceless  newcomers  without  mercy. 
They  lay  sick  in  their  tents  and  huts  by  the  score: 
some  rose  to  walk  abroad  again,  and  one  or  two 
were  carried  forth,  to  rise  no  more.  Then  came  the 
inevitable  scourge  of  a  New  Guinea  mining  rush — 
dysentery — and  the  camp  became  a  hospital.  The 
Government  sent  up  a  doctor,  new-caught  from  Mel- 
bourne schools :  and,  in  the  midst  of  several  hundred 
native  carriers,  and  some  scores  of  whites,  down 
with  the  disease,  he  did  the  work  of  ten  men,  helped 
by  the  old  hands  among  the  New  Guinea  miners, 
who  had  nearly  all  escaped.  .  .  .  There  were  two 
hundred  graves  of  poor  black  boys,  and  twenty  or 
thirty  of  whites,  away  in  the  green  silence  of  the 
bush,  before  that  last  worst  wave  of  ill  was  spent. 

Now  it  was  over.  The  Iri  rush,  cruellest  of  all 
the  cruel  rushes  that  have  darkened  the  annals  of 
New  Guinea,  was  done.  More  men  had  been  killed 
by  the  Yodda:  the  Waria  had  set  worse  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  prospectors.  But  there  had  never  be- 
fore been  such  bitter  and  universal  disappointment. 


300  GUINEA  GOLD 

One  or  two  of  the  old  New  Guinea  hands  had  found 
gold — mere  traces:  not  enough  to  pay  the  expenses 
of  their  boys.  Of  the  shopmen  and  lumberers,  and 
dentists,  and  horse-dealers,  and  farmers,  and  sailors, 
and  labourers,  and  bank  clerks,  scarce  one  had 
found  as  much  as  a  single  colour. 

The  old  hands  stayed  on  for  a  while:  where  so 
much  had  been  found  there  was  always  the  chance — 
for  an  experienced  miner — of  striking  the  golden 
reef  again.  But  the  outsiders  fled.  As  fast  as  the 
few  available  launches  and  schooners  could  take 
them  down  the  river  and  the  coast,  they  went,  broken 
and  disappointed  men,  cursing  the  name  of  New 
Guinea.  And  on  the  way  the  country  took  its  toll 
again.  In  the  edges  of  the  unknown  forest,  by  the 
Iri  and  Kikiramu  tracks,  there  were  more  dark, 
nameless  mounds  before  the  broken  men  won 
home. 

It  was  never  known — it  will  never  be  known  till 
the  day  when  all  things  are  made  plain — how  much 
the  silent,  hard-faced  miner  folk  of  the  older  fields 
helped  these  weaker  souls  who  had  come  to  New 
Guinea  in  defiance  of  all  warning,  destitute  of  ex- 
perience or  means,  and  cast  themselves  as  a  burden 
upon  the  country.  Carter,  the  store-keeper,  made 
little  out  of  the  rush,  for  his  heart  was  too  soft  to 
refuse  a  penniless  creature  food.  But  he  could  not 
cope  with  the  misery  and  destitution  of  an  entire 
township  unaided.  And  so  it  was  that  gold,  which 
was  never  found  in  the  valley  of  the  Iri,  made  its 


GUINEA  GOLD  301 

way  into  the  pockets  of  men  who  could  not  have  dis- 
covered it,  had  it  been  lying  in  the  earth  within  a 
yard  of  their  feet. 

The  discoverers  themselves  were  nobly  generous 
to  those  who  needed  help;  yet  even  so  it  was  hard 
for  the  unsuccessful  ones  to  watch  work  going  on  in 
the  reward  claim — to  hear  the  boom  of  dynamite, 
and  the  thud  of  picks,  and  the  steady  pounding  of 
sledges,  as  Anderson,  Scott,  and  their  boys  worked 
the  golden  reef;  to  guess,  with  bitter  envy,  how 
much  was  being  taken  out,  and  to  know  that  a  for- 
tune sufficient  to  place  each  one  of  the  owners  be- 
yond want  for  the  rest  of  his  life  had  already  been 
won.  In  any  other  country  than  New  Guinea  there 
might  have  been  trouble  over  the  matter,  but  the 
warden,  with  his  native  police  at  his  back,  and  the 
Government  doctor,  and  the  officials  from  Port 
Moresby,  who  came  all  the  way  up  to  the  field  to 
inspect  it  and  see  that  everything  was  being  done 
fairly  and  in  order,  created  an  impression  of  power 
and  civilisation  that  had  its  effect  on  the  most  law- 
less. It  was  known  that  one  of  the  discoverers 
had  been  robbed  of  a  sum  that  grew  in  value  the 
oftener  it  was  talked  about:  and  it  was  also  known 
that  the  thief  had  never  been  caught,  though  several 
months  had  gone  by.  Still,  everyone  knew  that  he 
had  not  got  away  with  the  gold,  whatever  had  hap- 
pened: and  the  imaginary  picture  of  Clay,  hiding 
and  starving  among  native  villages  somewhere  down 
in  the  Gulf,  while  he  looked  for  a  stray  sailing  ves- 


302  GUINEA  GOLD 

sel,  deprived  his  crime  of  all  glory  that  success  might 
have  shed  upon  it. 

No  one  among  the  newcomers  knew  why  the  third 
owner  of  the  golden  reef  did  not  stay  up  on  the  Iri 
and  help  in  the  working  of  his  property.  He  was  on 
the  Kikiramu  field,  living  in  an  abandoned  camp,  and 
drinking  more  than  was  good  for  him.  A  number 
of  Kikiramu  miners  had  already  returned  to  their 
old  haunts,  so  that  he  was  not  without  companion- 
ship. But  the  newcomers  thought  it  strange  that  he 
did  not  care  to  work  his  claim.  The  others,  it  was 
understood,  were  getting  a  percentage  of  his  gold 
in  return  for  doing  his  work. 

There  was  no  mystery  to  the  old  hands  of  the 
Kikiramu  in  Rupert's  behaviour:  but  they  did  not 
think  it  good  for  outsiders  ,to  know  more  than  was 
necessary  about  the  affairs  of  that  very  close  cor- 
poration, the  miners  of  Papua.  For  themselves, 
they  knew  quite  well  that  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Scott 
on  the  Iri  River  field  was  enough  to  keep  Rupert 
Dence  away  had  the  valley  been  paved  with  gold. 

No  one  thought  she  ought  to  have  been  there.  A 
new  rough  goldfield  is  no  place  for  a  woman :  more 
especially  for  a  gently  bred  lady.  And  the  horrors 
of  the  dysentery  epidemic  had  made  Cripps'  Reef, 
more  than  ever,  a  spot  to  which  no  bridegroom 
would  willingly  have  brought  his  bride.  But  there 
had  been  no  choice  in  the  matter. 

Charmian  had  refused  to  stay  behind. 

With  a  soft  yet  steady  persistence  that  seemed 


GUINEA  GOLD  303 

utterly  alien  to  her  character,  she  had  not  combated 
but  slipped  away  from  all  Scott's  reasons,  entreaties, 
commands.  She  must  go,  she  said.  Yes,  it  was  true 
that  the  track  was  a  terrible  one — but  she  had  come 
up  the  Kikiramu  track  already,  and  that  was  almost 
as  bad.  Yes,  the  field  would  be  a  very  rough  place : 
yes,  it  would  be  exceedingly  remote  from  civilisa- 
tion— food,  lodging,  surroundings  would  be  worse 
than  at  the  Kikiramu,  and  Mrs.  Carter  would  not 
be  there  to  keep  her  company.  Yes,  she  quite  under- 
stood all  Mr.  Anderson  said  (for  Anderson,  too, 
had  joined  in  the  chorus  of  disapproval,  and  tried 
to  shake  her  resolution),  and  she  was  sure  Mr. 
Anderson  knew  more  about  New  Guinea  fields  than 
even  her  husband.  They  were  all  very  good  to 
trouble  so  much  about  her,  and  she  knew  all  they 
said  was  true.     But  .    .    . 

M  Charmian,  I  won't  take  you — it  comes  to  that," 
declared  Scott  at  last. 

The  woman  set  her  small  hands  very  tightly  to- 
gether and  drew  a  long  breath.  They  were  all 
against  her,  these  men.  Always  men  were  against 
women,  when  it  came  to  the  things  that  mattered. 
And  behind  the  men  was  something  greater  than 
they — the  darkling,  cruel  spirit  of  Papua. 

.  .  .  "A  queen,  with  ruddy  lips  and  large  black  eyes, 
Brow-bound  with  burning  gold." 

They  should  not  win.  Papua  should  not  win. 
The  lure  of  the  gold  should  not  win.     Nothing 


304  GUINEA  GOLD 

should  take  him  from  her.  He  did  not  know  what 
she  knew,  and  would  not  tell  him.  But  .  .  .  there 
should  be  no  parting  now. 

u  I'm  sorry,"  she  replied  breathlessly,  to  Scott's 
last  words.  "  I'm  sorry."  She  panted  a  little  as  she 
spoke,  as  if  she  had  been  running.  "  Because  it 
would  be  so  dreadful — and  I  should  be  so  fright- 
ened— going  up  alone." 

There  was  a  silence,  and  then — 

"  Oh,  Charmian!  "  from  Scott.  His  voice  had  a 
hidden  laugh  in  it  somewhere:  there  was  reproof, 
and  there  was  surrender.  Anderson  (he  had  come 
down  to  the  Kikiramu  with  a  load  of  gold,  leaving 
his  claim  with  a  friend)  passed  his  hand  over  his 
long  beard  and  turned  away  to  hide  a  smile. 

"  You  naughty,  naughty  girl !  "  said  Mrs.  Carter. 

But  among  them  all  they  let  her  go. 

Scott  built  the  best  house  for  her  that  had  ever 
been  seen  on  a  New  Guinea  goldfield.  It  had  two 
rooms,  and  a  verandah  all  round,  and  the  stick  walls 
were  lined  with  costly  unbleached  calico,  so  that  they 
were  quite  untransparent.  It  had  chairs,  wonder- 
fully made  of  split  bamboo  from  a  huge  feathery 
grove  that  stood  just  behind  the  house:  it  had  a 
table,  put  together  from  inestimable  pieces  of  flat 
packing-case — the  only  sawn  boards  within  three- 
weeks'  journey.  Rustic  baskets  of  the  forest  ferns 
(unknown  and  unnamed,  some  of  them,  and  worth 
their  weight  in  gold  to  a  collector),  and  of  pink  and 
yellow  and  ice-white  orchids,  were  hung  from  the 


GUINEA  GOLD  305 

low  roof  of  the  verandah.  The  house  was  half  a 
mile  removed  from  the  camp :  it  stood  high  above 
the  green-glass  reaches  of  the  river,  and  behind  it 
and  about  it  was  the  bush.  If  you  went  for  a  walk, 
you  came  at  once  into  the  unbroken  forest,  where 
you  might  creep  a  mile  an  hour:  see  the  light  from 
above  fall  white  on  the  unmoving  leaves :  smell  the 
rotting  red  and  blue  forest  fruits  that  no  one  ate, 
and  hear,  far  away,  through  the  stillness,  the  horse- 
like tramp-tramp  of  a  cassowary's  running  feet. 

Scott  forbade  her,  with  some  sternness,  to  go  near 
the  camp,  and  she  obeyed.  She  obeyed  him  in  every- 
thing now.  When  the  dysentery  epidemic  broke  out, 
and  she  was  preparing  herself  to  go  to  the  field 
hospital,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  help  the  doctor, 
Scott  told  her  to  remain  at  home,  and  she  remained, 
without  a  word.  When  he  stopped  her  from  going 
to  the  edge  of  the  river  for  flowers,  lest  an  alligator 
might  stray  out  on  the  bank,  she  went  no  more,  and 
did  without  her  little  bouquet  for  the  table.  She  lived 
in  the  house  that  he  had  built  for  her,  and  never 
seemed  to  know  what  went  on  beyond  it,  save  for  the 
talk  of  Scott's  own  friends,  Anderson,  Brabant,  the 
Government  doctor,  and  some  of  the  old  Papuan 
miners  whom  he  used  to  bring  in  of  an  evening. 
When  the  men  from  Australia  were  all  gone  away, 
and  the  camp  was  left  to  the  miners  who  had  come 
from  the  Yodda  and  Kikiramu,  Scott  relaxed  some- 
what his  rule,  and  told  her  she  might  walk  about  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  reef  if  she  cared  and  see 


306  GUINEA  GOLD 

them  at  work.  But  she  seemed,  now,  to  have  little 
liking  for  anything  beyond  her  house.  There  she 
occupied  herself,  while  her  husband  was  away,  in 
making  her  own  clothes  and  mending  his :  contriving 
pretty  decorations  from  the  ferns  and  creepers  from 
the  bush,  brought  in  by  the  native  labourers :  singing 
a  little,  reading  a  little,  dreaming  alone,  by  the 
verandah-rail  overlooking  the  glass-green  river,  for 
long,  long  hours. 

Scott  was  happy.  In  spite  of  the  bitter  smart 
waked  by  the  thought  of  Janie  (she  had  taken  his 
letter  in  utter  silence,  though  there  was  now  more 
than  time  for  a  reply) ,  in  spite  of  the  wretchedness 
and  disappointment  that  overshadowed  the  Iri  field, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Dence,  the  man  he  had  made 
his  friend,  was  loafing  aimlessly  about  the  Kikiramu, 
hopeless  and  helpless — the  world  was  good.  He 
did  not  look  before  or  after.  Charmian  was  his; 
she  loved  him,  and  he  loved  her.  They  had  their 
little  home  above  the  still  Iri  River,  with  the  silent 
forests  all  about.  He  had  work  to  occupy  mind  and 
body  all  day:  he  was  adding  to  his  hoard  of  yellow 
flaky  gold,  hidden  safely  away  in  a  nook  of  the  house 
specially  built  to  conceal  it,  and  the  loss  of  that  eight 
hundred  ounces  was  being  steadily  made  up.  It 
was  true,  as  Anderson  had  predicted,  that  the  reef 
was  "  pinching  out  " :  true  that  the  yield  was,  almost 
daily,  less  and  less.  But  there  was  still  enough  to 
keep  them  at  work  for  some  months :  and  when  all 
that  could  be  won  was  won,  they  could  sell  the  reef 


GUINEA  GOLD  307 

for  a  good  sum  down  in  Samarai,  or  Port  Moresby, 
or  Sydney,  to  anyone  who  would  care  to  take  the 
risk  of  bringing  up  machinery.  A  company  could, 
doubtless,  squeeze  something  more  out  of  the  fruit 
when  they,  by  their  primitive  methods,  should  have 
sucked  it  and  flung  it  away. 

In  the  evening  hours  of  this  strange  isolated  place, 
that  felt  as  far  away  from  cities  and  from  civilisa- 
tion as  Uranus  or  Neptune,  the  house  above  the  river 
became  a  magnet  to  all  Scott's  friends.  Charmian 
rose  in  the  wilderness,  was  the  only  reminder  to 
these  lonely  men  that  such  things  as  wives  and  homes 
existed,  in  countries  far  away — that  beautiful  women 
still  lived  and  laughed  and  wiled  men's  hearts  away, 
somewhere  beyond  the  gloomy  forest  lands.  Just  to 
hear  her  soft  woman's  voice — just  to  see  her  brown- 
gold  head  bent  over  a  piece  of  sewing,  under  the 
light  of  the  hurricane  lamp,  with  the  circle  of  her 
light-coloured  skirt  flowing  out  on  the  floor — sent  a 
man  back  to  his  mildewed,  damp-smelling  tent  with 
a  heart  that  sank  less  low  than  usual  when  the  night 
pressed  down  upon  the  forest  and  the  rain  began  to 
thunder  in  the  dark.   .    .    * 

Camp  is  well  enough  in  the  daytime:  the  green 
things  are  friendly,  round  about  your  open  door: 
the  birds  flirt  and  flutter  sociably:  the  river  talks  to 
you.  But  with  the  going  of  the  sun  your  friends  go 
too.  Out  of  the  darks  of  the  forest  creeps  your 
nightside  mind,  to  keep  you  company,  as  the  drowned 
wife  of  the  legend  crept  forth  from  the  depths  of 


308  GUINEA  GOLD 

the  sea  to  clasp  her  dank,  cold  arms  about  her  liv- 
ing lord.  .  .  .  Your  fire  is  out,  your  boys  are  sleep- 
ing. You  lie  among  the  shadows,  as  you  will  lie 
among  the  endless  shadows  some  day  soon :  the  an- 
chor chain  of  your  tenuous  life  drags,  frail  as  a 
spider's  thread,  upon  the  feeble  holding-ground  that 
skirts  the  Unknown  Sea.  So,  looking  into  the  heart 
of  life  and  death,  you  learn  why  men  of  the  wilder- 
ness know  no  fear.  By  one  wind  or  another  the 
ship  will  take  the  deep.  What  does  it  matter 
whether  to-morrow  or  to-day? 

Brabant,  the  doctor,  could  not  understand  why 
Mrs.  Scott  disliked  him. 

He  was  a  little  in  love  with  her:  not  very  much, 
for  he  had  a  girl-wife  and  two  babies  down  in  Mel- 
bourne, and  was  just  as  fond  of  them  as  an  honest 
young  Australian  can  be — but  he  was  assuredly  in- 
terested in  the  beautitful,  rather  silent  girl  that 
George  Scott  had  married:  and  he  did  not  like  being 
neglected  by  her. 

She  certainly  did  neglect  him.  His  camp  was 
farther  away  than  Anderson's :  Anderson  often  came 
in  to  spend  the  evening  with  the  Scotts,  and  when 
Brabant  arrived  he  was  sure  to  find  all  three  laugh- 
ing and  talking  sociably  on  the  verandah.  .  .  . 
Then,  with  his  own  coming,  something  like  a  shadow 
would  fall  upon  the  party.  Mrs.  Scott  would  drop 
silent,  produce  cards  for  the  men,  and  slip  away  to 
a  quiet  corner  with  her  sewing,  watching  them  while 


GUINEA  GOLD  309 

they  played,  but  speaking  scarce  at  all.  Before  long 
she  would  have  vanished  indoors:  the  boy  would 
bring  out  supper,  and  no  one  would  see  any  more  of 
the  lady  of  the  house.  Scott  was  always  ready  to 
"  yarn  "  with  him,  and  Anderson  was  sociably  dis- 
posed, for  the  most  part:  neither,  he  thought,  had 
observed  Mrs.  Scott's  apparent  dislike  of  himself. 
Sometimes,  if  he  spoke  to  her,  she  would  start  as 
though  she  were  frightened,  and  look  up  at  him 
with  large  eyes,  dark  in  the  dusk  of  the  verandah, 
and  half-parted  lips.  .  .  .  What  was  it  that  made 
her  avoid  and  fear  him?  Brabant,  young,  pleasant, 
and  popular  with  women,  could  not  guess. 

He  had  not  been  long  in  New  Guinea,  and  was 
one  of  those  unfortunates  who  are  especially  sus- 
ceptible to  the  poison  of  malaria.  In  his  riverside 
camp  the  deadly  anopheles  mosquitoes  held  high 
revel  at  nights :  and  Brabant,  with  his  fresh  Southern 
blood,  was  a  tempting  victim.  He  had  fever  again 
and  again:  pulled  himself  through,  with  the  aid  of 
Anderson,  and  got  about  his  work  among  the  sick 
native  carriers  almost  sooner  than  was  prudent.  He 
found,  with  a  little  flutter  of  gratified  vanity,  that 
Mrs.  Scott  was  really  troubled  about  his  health, 
whether  she  liked  himself  or  not:  she  used  to  ask 
most  kindly  after  his  condition,  when  he  came  to 
the  house,  and  even  begged  him  not  to  overwork. 
One  day  she  brought  out  a  small  case  of  meat-juice, 
and  pressed  it  on  his  acceptance,  with  polite  and 


310  GUINEA  GOLD 

kindly  words.  Brabant  was  glad  of  it.  There  were 
few  luxuries  in  the  camp,  and  he  knew  that  Scott 
had  no  particular  use  for  the  meat-juice — but  could 
not  for  the  life  of  him  understand  why  Mrs.  Scott, 
who  always  seemed  to  shrink  away  from  him,  should 
give  him  that,  or  anything  else. 

"  She's  got  some  feminine  dislike  or  other  to  me," 
he  agreed  with  himself.  "  There's  no  accounting 
for  the  whimsies  of  their  nervous  systems.  And 
she's  naturally  kind-hearted,  and  tries  to  overcome 
it.  Well,  I'm  the  better  by  a  case  of  Oxil,  anyhow. 
\  That  is  something,'  as  Hans  Andersen  would 
say. 

"  But  I  wonder,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  wonder 
why  .    .    ." 

One  morning  he  met  Mrs.  Scott  alone  beyond  the 
house,  taking  a  short  walk  on  the  top  of  the  river 
cliff.     And  suddenly  he  knew. 

She  knew  that  he  knew.  She  came  towards  him 
with  hands  stretched  out  and  honey-brown  eyes 
opened  wide. 

"  Oh,  don't — don't  tell!"  she  exclaimed — and 
burst  into  tears. 

Brabant  found  himself  holding  her  little  hands, 
grown  suddenly  cold,  and  comforting  her  like  a  cry- 
ing child. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  soothingly,  the  physician  all 
awake.  "  Of  course  not:  but  you  mustn't  cry.  And 
why " 

"  Oh,"   cried   Charmian,    "  I   was  so   afraid — I 


GUINEA  GOLD  311 

thought  you  would  make  him  send  me  away.  And 
I  can't  leave  him." 

u  Why?  "  asked  Brabant,  feeling  for  the  moment 
that  he  was  wading  in  deep  waters.  Little  Mrs. 
Brabant  had  not  taken  the  idea  of  his  going  up  to 
Papua  in  such  high-tragedy  fashion.  But  she  was  a 
sensible  small  body,  whereas  this  passion-flower  of 
womanhood 

Charmian  was  not  crying  now.  She  was  looking 
out  over  the  tops  of  the  forest  sea,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river — away  to  the  blue  mysterious  domes  of 
the  far  main  range,  where  no  man's  foot  had  trod. 

"  I'm  not  good — at  talking,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I 
feel  things — I  can't  say  them  very  well.  It's  just — 
that — something  tells  me.  I  don't  know  what  it  is, 
but  it's  stronger  than  I  am." 

Brabant,  with  his  physician  instinct,  kept  silent, 
to  let  her  have  her  say  out. 

"  It's  been  all — like  a  dream,"  she  went  on.  "  It's 
like  a  dream  still.  The  strange,  wild  country — 
and  the  storms — and  the  sunsets  like  the  Judgment 
Day — and  the  sweet,  sweet  scents  that  get  into  your 
brain — and  those  dark  shadowy  faces  of  the  natives, 
flitting — and  the  far-awayness.  I'm  afraid  all  the 
time — of  waking  up.     It  makes  one  .    .    .  cling." 

"  But,  my  dear  lady "  began  Brabant. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  interrupted  Charmian.     "  You'd 

all  have  talked  and  worried  till Now  you  can't. 

I  can  stay  with  him." 

"  Well,"  said  Brabant,  dropping  down  to  earth 


3tt  GUINEA  GOLD 

determinedly,  "  it's  a  jolly  good  thing  for  you  that 
the  Government  didn't  take  me  away.  And  now 
you'll  have  to  be  sensible.  Let  your  husband  know 
at  once — take  care  of  yourself — and  take  all  the 
advice  I  give  you.    You'll  be  all  right,  never  fear." 

"  I  don't.  I  only  care  ...  to  stay,"  said  Char- 
mian. 

Brabant  saw  her  back  to  the  house  above  the 
river. 

There  were  no  visitors  that  evening.  The  hus- 
band and  wife  sat  alone.  They  had  much  to  say. 
Yet,  in  all  that  they  said,  the  future  held  small  part. 
It  was  as  though  the  wilderness  had  enmeshed  them 
body  and  soul,  shutting  away  even  their  thoughts 
from  the  outer  world,  as  the  rivers,  and  the  forests, 
and  the  ranges,  and  the  stormy  coral  seas  shut  the 
common  lot  and  life  of  common  man  away  from 
Papua. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  Kikiramu  was  awake  again.  Brown,  naked 
carriers,  bearing  fifty  and  sixty  pound  loads  on  their 
backs,  tripped  lightly  up  and  down  the  great  log 
stairway.  Smoke  rose  among  the  treetops.  The 
distant  hack-hack  of  clearing-knives  and  axes  came 
up  from  the  valley  to  the  store  in  the  still  blue  hours 
of  noon.  The  store  was  going  again :  its  outhouses 
were  taxed  to  put  up  the  crowd  of  carriers  needed 
for  the  work  of  supplying  the  camp,  and  its  veran- 
dah and  bar  were  never  empty  of  buying,  lounging, 
smoking  men.  Claims  had  changed  hands  on  the 
Kikiramu,  as  they  generally  do  when  a  big  rush  car- 
ries away  the  miners  in  a  body,  leaving  a  whole 
camp  to  the  deliberate  choosing  of  those  who  re- 
main behind  or  return  early.  But  the  personnel  of 
the  field  was  the  same,  save  for  the  addition  of  one 
or  two  outsiders  who  had  stayed  over  the  rush,  and 
the  absence  of  a  well-known  face  here  and  there. 
One  had  gone  down  to  Melbourne  with  a  "  good 
shammy  "  of  gold  to  have  a  spree :  one  had  given 
up  digging  and  taken  to  plantation  managing,  away 
East:  Anderson  was  still  at  the  all  but  deserted  Iri 
field,  working  out  the  last  of  Cripps'  Reef  with  Scott. 
The  old  hands  mostly  lived  as  they  had  lived  before 

313 


3  H  GUINEA  GOLD 

the  delusive  rainbow  of  Cripps'  gold  rose  on  the 
horizon — making  enough  for  comfort  and  content, 
with  no  dazzling  views  of  fortune. 

Mrs.  Carter  was  still  at  the  store.  She  had 
stayed  a  good  while  this  time,  and  people  were  be- 
ginning to  wonder  how  North-West  Island  was  get- 
ting on  without  its  sovereign.  But  the  Queen 
remained  where  she  was.  She  meant  to  go  up  to 
Cripps'  Reef  before  very  long:  by  and  by  would  be 
time  enough  to  talk  of  returning  to  her  kingdom. 

News,  as  usual,  circulated  from  the  store  round 
about  the  camps  in  the  bush  whenever  the  lazy 
Dragon-Fly  crawled  up  the  river  and  lay  a  day  or 
two  before  coming  back — rumours  from  Port 
Moresby,  scandal  from  Samarai,  strange  happen- 
ings from  the  D'Entrecasteaux  and  Louisiades.  A 
tale  of  a  traveller  came,  one  voyage,  to  cause  delight 
and  amusement  among  those  who  could  cross  the 
t's  and  dot  the  i's.  The  traveller's  name  was  Du- 
cane,  and  he  had  turned  up  by  the  Matting  a  (some 
weeks  later  than  he  was  expected)  to  look  for  the 
lady  once  known  as  Mrs.  Ducane.  No  one  had  been 
able  to  tell  him  where  she  was  gone:  there  was  a 
general  impression  to  the  effect. that  she  had  got 
away  on  the  Norddeutscher  Lloyd  steamer,  but 
some  supposed  she  might  be  in  North-West  Island 
since  Mrs.  Carter's  schooner  had  sailed  back  thither 
on  the  day  when  Charmian  was  last  seen  in  Samarai. 
Ducane,  who  had  succeeded  in  making  himself  thor- 
oughly unpopular  during  the  few  days  of  his  stay 


GUINEA  GOLD  315 

in  the  island  town,  found  little  help  or  encourage- 
ment in  his  search :  but  he  had  plenty  of  money,  and 
spent  it  liberally,  so  that  a  pearling  Greek  from  the 
Trobriands  was  moved  to  offer  him  his  cutter  and 
his  services  in  looking  for  the  missing  lady.  They 
went  and  looked  in  North-West  Island,  about  the 
Calvados  Chain,  in  Misima  and  Woodlark  and  Ros- 
sel,  and  might  have  been  looking  yet  (since  the 
Greek  was  paid  by  the  day)  had  not  news  come 
down  at  last  by  the  Cora  Lynn  to  tell  of  the  wedding 
up  on  the  Kikiramu  field.  At  this,  it  seemed,  Du- 
cane  was  like  a  madman,  and  wanted  to  go  up  to  the 
Kikiramu  himself,  being  sure  that  the  story  was  a 
lie:  only,  by  and  by,  when  the  leisurely  mails  had 
been  sorted  and  delivered,  the  resident  magistrate 
of  Samarai  produced  a  certificate  of  marriage,  made 
out  by  the  resident  and  warden  of  the  Kikiramu 
field,  and  directed  to  "  Grant  Ducane,"  under  care 
of  the  Samarai  official.  Whereupon  Ducane,  look- 
ing white  and  beaten,  and  ten  years  older,  had 
secured  a  launch,  gone  down  the  coast  to  Port 
Moresby,  and  steamed  away  out  of  sight  and  re- 
membrance, on  the  Dutch  company's  liner  Van 
Linschoten. 

Then  there  were  rumours  about  Clay — how  some- 
body had  seen  him  down  in  Brisbane  cleaning  boots 
in  a  back-street  hotel:  how  others  declared  he  had 
never  got  down  the  Kikiramu  River,  but  had  been 
caught  by  the  natives :  how  others  yet  were  sure  that 
he  had  been  seen  on  the  P.  &  O.  Macedonia,  as  she 


316  GUINEA  GOLD 

was  leaving  Sydney,  gorgeously  clad,  and  rejoicing 
in  the  possession  of  a  royal  suite  of  cabins.  .  .  . 
And  there  was  talk  about  Scott  and  Anderson,  how 
much  they  had  gained,  how  soon  they  would  come 
down — and  about  Brabant,  who  had  apparently  been 
forgotten  by  the  Government,  now  that  the  rush  was 
over,  and  was  occupying  himself  making  a  collec- 
tion of  leaf-insects  and  butterflies,  likely  to  be 
worth  some  hundreds  of  pounds  when  he  had  com- 
pleted it. 

Rupert  Dence,  wandering  about  the  bush,  smok- 
ing, talking,  and  generally  idling,  seemed  to  have 
got  over  the  effects  of  his  late  violent  bout  of  drink, 
and  returned  to  something  very  like  his  former  self. 
He  was  exceedingly  restless,  however;  he  would  not 
go  down  to  Port  Moresby,  or  up  to  Cripps'  Reef: 
he  could  not  work  his  old  claim,  as  it  had  lapsed 
when  he  left  it :  he  could  not  take  up  a  new  one,  as 
he  held  all  that  the  law  allowed  him,  up  at  the  Iri. 
Much  of  his  time,  therefore,  was  spent  in  a  sort  of 
aimless  prospecting  about  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
camps :  he  did  not  seem  to  care  for  distant  journeys. 
Often  he  came  up  to  the  store,  lingered  long  over 
the  few  purchases  he  had  to  make,  and  looked  at 
Mrs.  Carter  with  eyes  that  spoke  things  unintel- 
ligible to  the  heavy  mind  of  her  husband,  though 
clear  enough  to  her.  She  always  managed,  on  such 
occasions,  to  mention  the  arrival  of  any  carriers 
from  any  outside  place,  and  the  news  they  might 
have  brought,  or  failed  to  bring. 


GUINEA  GOLD  317 

At  last,  one  day,  when  Rupert  called  at  the  store, 
he  saw  the  capable  mistress  of  the  place  making 
preparations  for  departure.  Swags  were  being 
taken  out  and  packed:  tins  and  bags  selected  from 
the  store.  Mrs.  Carter  stood  on  the  verandah,  di- 
recting and  commanding.  Carter  skulked  in  the 
shadows,  feeling  his  beard.  He  had  a  vaguely 
regretful  look. 

"Off  to  port?"  asked  Dence  carelessly,  leaning 
an  arm  on  the  rail. 

"  Bless  you,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Carter.  "  I'm  off  to 
Cripps'  Reef  to-morrow  at  daylight.  It's  full  time 
I  was  there  now:  I'd  have  started  a  fortnight  ago, 
only  that  I  got  a  leechbite  on  my  foot  that  inflamed 
and  knocked  me  up  for  bush  walking.  You,  Gibi! 
look  out  with  that  tin  of  flour:  don't  put  it  on  top  of 
the  wine-bottles.  Get  a  pull  on  the  cord:  haul  him 
tight — lively!  That  one  finish:  you  put  him  long 
verandah." 

"  Who's  taking  you  up?  "asked  Dence. 

"  Well,  that's  the  question  just  now,"  replied  Mrs. 
Carter,  making  a  hawk-like  dart  into  the  pile  of 
goods  on  the  floor.  "  Where  'nother  fellow  bottle 
kerosine  he  stop?  You  no  gammon  me!  Go  catch 
him,  quick,  that  bottle !  My  word,  by  and  by  I  cut 
the  hide  off  of  you ! 

"  You  see,"  she  went  on,  "  German  Harry's  got 
fever — he  was  going — and  I  can't  leave  the  store 
without  anyone,  so  Tim's  got  to  stay.  I  think  I'll 
ask  Mike.    He's  not  doing  much  on  his  claim." 


318  GUINEA  GOLD 

"What  about  me?"  demanded  Dence,  looking 
at  her  with  a  face  devoid  of  all  expression. 

"  You?  "  Mrs.  Carter  turned,  her  hands  on  her 
hips,  her  Elizabethan  eye  fixed  hard  and  keen.  "  I 
thought  you  wasn't  set  on  going  up  to  the  Iri,  any- 
how." 

"  Don't  know  that  it  matters  what  you've  been 
thinkin'.  I'll  go.  I  know  every  inch  of  the  way. 
I'd— rather." 

"  Very  well."  Mrs.  Carter  turned  back  to  her 
pile  of  goods.  "  You  be  here  at  half-past  five  to- 
morrow, sharp.  Don't  fool.  And — I'm  obliged  to 
you,   Mr.  Dence." 

Much  had  been  done  to  improve  the  way  to  the 
Iri  field  since  first  the  discoverers  tracked  it  out. 
Rivers  had  been  spanned  by  logs  or  by  liana  sus- 
pension bridges.  Swamps  had  been  "  corduroyed  " 
in  the  worst  places.  Bush  huts  had  been  put  up  at 
the  usual  camping-grounds.  Nevertheless,  it  was  a 
terrible  road,  and  Mrs.  Carter,  not  so  young  as  she 
had  been,  was  fain  to  cut  some  of  the  longer  marches 
in  two.  It  happened  that  she  did  this  just  before 
reaching  the  alligator  swamp:  and,  the  latter  part 
of  the  way  proving  easy,  they  found  themselves 
arrived  at  the  height  above  the  swamp  as  early  as 
four  in  the  afternoon. 

Dence  opined  that  it  was  too  late  to  begin  the 
crossing  now :  they  might  be  caught  by  the  dusk.  In 
daylight,  experience  had  proved  that  there  was  little 


GUINEA  GOLD  319 

or  no  danger  in  crossing  the  swamp.  True,  a  car- 
rier or  so  had  been  taken  by  the  alligators  during 
the  time  of  the  rush,  but  these  had  simply  courted 
disaster  by  leaving  the  corduroy  path  and  going  off 
into  the  swamp  after  crabs.  Since  the  frequent 
coming  and  going  across  had  ceased,  these  last  few 
months,  the  alligators  had  evidently  increased  in 
numbers:  men  camping  on  either  side  at  night  had 
been  kept  awake  by  the  bellowing  of  the  brutes  down 
in  the  mud  and  slime  below.  Still,  in  daylight,  and 
with  common  care,  there  was  no  risk  to  speak  of. 

So  Dence  explained  to  Mrs.  Carter  as  that  deter- 
mined lady  was  stirring  up  the  carriers  to  unpack 
the  swags  needed  for  the  night.  Mrs.  Carter  did 
not  pay  much  attention  to  him.  She  seemed  to  have 
something  on  her  mind. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said,  when  the  dusk  had  come  and 
the  fire  was  lit  and  they  were  sitting  on  a  log  to 
sup,  with  the  warm,  wet-scented  forest  close  about 
them,  and  the  bell-birds  tank-tanking  under  the  stars 
— "  I  wish  I  could  have  made  better  time  of  it.  I 
reckoned  on  being  there  before  now." 

She  tilted  her  tin  pannikin  of  tea  and  drained  it: 
she  was  not  tired,  after  the  short  day's  walk,  but  she 
was  thirsty,  for  the  night  promised  to  be  sultry  and 
still. 

Dence  made  no  reply:  he  was  sitting  huddled  up 
on  the  log,  chewing  his  moustache.  He  had  been 
very  silent  all  day. 

The  boys  took  the  plates  away,  unfastened  the 


320  GUINEA  GOLD 

sacks  of  bedding,  and  slung  the  mosquito  nets  under 
the  roof  of  the  open  bush-house.  It  grew  darker: 
the  stars  were  hidden  behind  purple  clouds. 

"  Where  'nother  lantern  stop?  "  called  Mrs.  Car- 
ter impatiently.  It  seemed  as  though  "  bush 
nerves  "  were  abroad  that  night. 

"  Sinuabada  (lady),  altogether  he  pinish," 
quavered  the  boy  she  addressed. 

"  Finished?     What  d'ye  mean?  " 

"  He  pall  down  along  big  river." 

"  Fell  in  the  river?  Fell  in  the  river?  You 
wait  till  we  get  in  to-morrow,  and  I'll  talk  to  you, 
you  black  bushman!     Fell  in  the  river?  " 

The  native  fled,  trembling  lest  the  promised 
"  talk  "  should  take  place  there  and  then.  Mrs. 
Carter,  slapping  at  the  mosquitoes,  remarked,  in  an 
aggravated  voice,  that  it  seemed  likely  to  rain: 
Dence  said  nothing.  He  sat  looking  out  into  the 
illimitable  bush,  silent,  chewing  his  moustache.  His 
face  seemed  white  in  the  dim  light  of  the  single  hur- 
ricane lantern. 

"  There!  "  said  Mrs.  Carter  at  last,  killing  a  mos- 
quito with  a  smack  that  almost  overbalanced  her. 
"  I'm  full  up  with  this.  Dence,  you  may  think  to 
hide  your  head  under  a  bushel"  (Mrs.  Carter's 
Biblical  knowledge  was  growing  rusty),  "  but  you 
don't  take  me  in.  Good  God,  man,  why  are  you 
spoiling  your  life  over  another  man's  wife  like  this? 
How  many  lives  do  you  reckon  you've  got  to  throw 
away?  " 


GUINEA  GOLD  321 

"  She's  not  spoilin'  it,"  answered  Dence,  in  a 
monotonous  tone.  "  That's  a  job  I  did  myself,  and 
did  thoroughly,  fifteen  years  ago." 

"  You  can  keep  your  own  secrets,  I  reckon,"  said 
Mrs.  Carter  keenly.  "  There's  not  a  man  in  the 
Territory  knows  anything  about  you,  except  what 
they've  seen." 

"  And  not  a  man  will,"  came  the  answer.  Rough, 
degraded,  broken  as  he  was,  there  seemed  a  certain 
dignity  about  Dence  to-night.  He  was  no  favourite 
of  Mrs.  Carter's,  but  for  the  moment  she  could  see 
what  it  was  in  him  that  had  made  Anderson,  the 
strongest  character  on  the  goldfields,  choose  him  for 
his  "  mate,"  and  had  won  the  affection  of  the  cool, 
fastidious  Scott. 

"  Well,  however  that  may  be,  I  say  you're  a  fool 
to  go  on  caring  for  Charmian  Scott.  Forget  her, 
man!  The  world's  full  of  women;  and  if  you 
only  knew  it,  one  of  us  is  pretty  much  as  good  as 
another." 

Rupert  Dence  made  no  reply:  he  was  saying  some- 
thing to  himself  that  sounded  like  poetry: 

"Dark  grows  the  valley,  more  and  more  forgetting, 
So  were  it  with  me,  could  forgetfulness  be  willed. 
Tell  the  running  river  that  feeds  the  bubbling  well-head, 
Tell  it  to  forget  the  source  that  keeps  it  filled." 

11  Oh,  poetry !  "  said  Mrs.  Carter  contemptu- 
ously.   "  The  world  isn't  poetry." 

"  Not  for  you,"  answered  Dence,  looking  at  her 


322  GUINEA  GOLD 

with  the  mocking  expression  that  always  irritated 
her.  It  made  her  feel  that,  after  all,  she  didn't  mat- 
ter very  much :  worse,  that  she  was  a  woman.  .  .  . 
Mrs.  Carter  did  not  like  to  be  made  to  feel  that  she 
was  a  woman. 

She  drove  home  a  stab  of  plain  truth,  as  hard  as 
she  could,  in  return. 

"  Mrs.  Scott  never  cared  a  brass  pin  about  you. 
She'll  care  less  when  she's  got  her  baby." 

Rupert  was  not  listening  to  her.  He  was  sitting 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  chin  in  his 
hands,  looking  into  the  black-blue  gloom  beyond  the 
circle  of  the  lamp.  A  night-moth,  big  as  a  bird, 
swept  into  the  light  and  out  again,  like  a  human  soul 
flitting  from  dark  to  dark. 

"  Buck  up,  and  look  cheerful,  if  you  can,"  com- 
manded Mrs.  Carter  irritably.  "  You're  not  much 
of  a  mate  to  go  through  the  bush  with,  I  don't 
think." 

She  fanned  herself  jerkily  with  her  handkerchief: 
the  night  was  breathlessly  warm.  Rain  could  not  be 
far  away:  the  stars  were  surely  fainter.  .  .  .  Why 
could  she  not  walk  as  she  had  walked  ten  years  ago? 
She  could  have  kept  pace  with  almost  any  man  in 
Papua — then.  Why  could  she  not  have  got  farther 
on  her  way?    There  was  no  knowing  whether  .   .    . 

"  Oh,  talk,  can't  you !  "  she  snapped.  The  boys 
were  feeding  round  about  their  fly:  one  heard  the 
clink  of  their  spoons  on  the  tin  plates,  and  the  low 
babble  of  a  dozen  different  languages.     Someone 


GUINEA  GOLD  323 

was  relating  something  exciting:  the  others  jerked 
interested  comment. 

"  I  don't  feel  like  talking,"  answered  Rupert, 
without  taking  his  head  out  of  his  hands.  "  I'll 
recite  to  keep  the  blue  devils  off,  for  both  of  us." 

"  Recite  away,"  agreed  Mrs.  Carter.  Rupert's 
recitations  were  famous  all  over  the  Territory,  but 
it  was  seldom  indeed  that  anyone  could  prevail  on 
him  to  give  one,  unless  he  happened  to  be  in  the 
mood.  The  Queen,  in  her  heart,  hated  poetry:  but 
she  hoped  his  choice  might  be  prose. 

It  was  not.  It  was  Lindsay  Gordon's  "  Sick 
Stockrider."  He  began  sitting,  his  head  half  bent 
down:  but  before  long  the  poem  gripped  him,  and 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  recited  as  he  had  never  in 
his  life  recited  before.  The  boys,  frightened  at  first, 
became  fascinated,  and  crowded  round  him,  leaving 
the  remains  of  their  supper  to  the  ants  and  iguanas. 
Mrs.  Carter  sat  breathless,  looking  at  his  lit-up  face, 
and  feeling,  without  quite  understanding,  the  swing 
of  the  lines.  Rupert  had  a  wonderful  singing  voice: 
and  he  used  it  almost  to  equal  effect  in  speaking 
when  he  chose.  The  Queen  was  wiping  her  eyes 
and  catching  her  breath  before  long:  poetry  was 
rubbish,  but  it  did  sound  heart-breaking!  .   .   . 

Rupert  was  nearing  the  end:  his  voice,  clear  as 
silver,  sank  like  a  fountain  falling  slowly  back  to  its 
source.  The  lean,  shabby  figure  in  the  worn  khaki 
clothes,  the  hawk-like,  high-bred  face  stood  out  in 
the  circle  of  lamplight:  behind  was  the  dark. 


324  GUINEA  GOLD 

"I've  had  my  share  of  pastime,  and  I've  done  my  share  of  toil, 

And  life  is  short — the  longest  life  a  span, 
I  care  not  now  to  tarry  for  the  corn  or  for  the  oil, 

Or  the  wine  that  maketh  glad  the  heart  of  man; 
For  good  undone,  and  gifts  misspent,  and  resolutions  vain, 

'Tis  somewhat  late  to  trouble— this  I  know, 
I  should  live  the  same  life  over  if  I  had  to  live  again, 

And  the  chances  are — I  go  where  most  men  go!" 

"  Taubada !  "  said  an  excited  voice  among  the 
boys.  Someone  came  forward,  apparently  pushed 
from  behind. 

Rupert  stopped:  the  flame  in  his  blue  eyes  went 
out.  He  unclenched  his  hands  and  looked  at 
them  oddly,  as  though  they  belonged  to  someone 
else. 

"  How  I  have  been  gassin' !  "  he  said.  He  ad- 
dressed the  boy  like  one  waking  up  from  a  dream. 

■■'  Well,  what  do  you  want?  " 

"  Me  boy  belong  Missi  Kotti." 

"  One  of  Scott's  boys,  are  you,  by  Jove!  When 
did  you  come,  and  what  do  you  want?  " 

"  Me  been  come  close-up  sun  he  pinish  (near  sun- 
set).    Me  gottum  letter." 

"  Letter?  "  Dence's  face  changed.  "  Why  didn't 
you  give  it  before?  " 

"  Me  talk  alonga  boy." 

"  Confound  you!  Give  it  here!  What  do  you 
mean  by Mrs.  Carter,  it's  for  you !  " 

Mrs.  Carter  had  sprung  to  her  feet  and  snatched 
it  out  of  his  hand  almost  before  he  spoke.  Bending 
over  to  catch  the  light  of  the  lantern  she  read  it,  and 


GUINEA  GOLD  325 

passed  it  to  Dence.  Then  she  sat  down  on  the  log 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  why  aren't  I  ten  years  younger!  " 
she  said,  rocking  on  her  seat.  "  Why  wasn't  I  here 
day  before  yesterday!  " 

Rupert  had  read  the  note  in  a  flash.  It  was  from 
Scott — a  blot-spattered  scrawl,  scarce  legible: 

"  For  God's  sake  come  on  as  quick  as  you  can, 
wherever  this  meets  you.  Brabant  is  down  with 
black-water  fever,  delirious.  I  think  Charmian  is 
ill.  For  God's  sake  come.  I  have  sent  a  carrying- 
chair  with  the  boys.  Drive  them  all  you  can.  An- 
derson can't  leave  Brabant — he  is  very  bad.  Make 
haste,  for  God's  sake. 

"  George  Scott." 

Dence  dropped  the  letter  on  the  ground  and 
pulled  Mrs.  Carter  to  her  feet  with  a  jerk. 

"  Are  you  game  to  cross  to-night?  "  he  said,  his 
breath  coming  quick. 

"  Game?  What  do  you  take  me  for?  Do  you 
think  all  the  gold  in  the  country  would  keep  me 
here?"  demanded  Mrs.  Carter,  sobbing  loudly. 
"  Cross?    I  should  think  so!  " 

"  Do  you  know  the  risk?  "  asked  Rupert  gently. 

"There's  alligators,  ain't  there?" 

As  if  in  reply  to  the  question  a  long,  moaning 
bellow  came  from  below,  answered  by  another.  It 
was  a  grisly  sound — here  in  the  forest,  in  the  night. 

Mrs.  Carter  listened  to  it,  her  face  setting  hard. 
She  stopped  crying,  and  wiped  her  eyes  dry. 


326  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  Where's  those  boys  of  Scott's?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Sinuabada  (lady) — he  stop  along  'nother  side." 

"  Other  side — and,  anyhow,  not  one  of  them 
would  cross  in  the  dark,  if  you  drove  them  with 
bayonets.     I  reckon  ours  won't  either." 

"  Suppose  you  come  alonga  we-fellow,  I  give  you 
plenty  kuku  (tobacco),"  suggested  Dence  to  the 
head  boy. 

"Where  me  go?" 

"  Alonga  'nother  side." 

The  boy's  eyes  dilated  till  they  showed  a  white 
ring  all  round  the  dark-brown  iris. 

"  You  gammon,  Taubada !  "  he  panted. 

"  No  gammon.  Suppose  some  boy  he  come,  to- 
night, I  give  him  five  pounds  money." 

The  carriers  drew  back  and  huddled  together, 
their  faces  showing  mortal  fear.  Another  snarling 
moan  came  up  from  the  swamp. 

"  Hear  him,  Taubada !  "  trembled  the  carrier. 
"  Me  too  much  dam  fright.     Me  no  go." 

"  Dence,  leave  them  alone,"  came  from  Mrs. 
Carter.  She  had  just  finished  pinning  up  her  dress, 
and  was  rapidly  snicking  cartridge  after  cartridge 
into  the  45  Colt  she  had  taken  from  one  of  the 
swags.  "  They  won't  go,  and  I  don't  know  as  it's 
a  square  deal  to  try  and  make  them." 

"  The  risk  is  worse  for  you,"  said  Dence. 

"  It's  got  to  be  taken.  They  haven't  any  call  to 
throw  away  their  lives,  and  I  reckon  they  won't, 
anyhow.    We'll  have  a  lantern  apiece " 


GUINEA  GOLD  327 

She  broke  off. 

"  That  fool  of  a  boy — there's  only  one!  " 

It  was  beginning  to  rain,  a  fitful  dropping  that 
promised  the  usual  nightly  downpour  before  long. 
Dence  pulled  a  couple  of  brands  from  the  fire  and 
tried  to  make  them  burn.  But  they  hissed  and  went 
out  as  the  fall  grew  heavier. 

"  You'll  have  to  go  first,"  said  Dence,  turning 
away  from  the  useless  fire,  "  and  carry  the  lantern. 
They're  more  or  less  afraid  of  light." 

"  I  reckon  I  know  about  as  much  of  them  as  you 
do.  And  what's  to  become  of  yourself?"  asked 
Mrs.  Carter.  She  had  girded  up  her  dress  now,  and 
stuck  the  revolver  in  her  loosened  belt:  her  keen, 
handsome  face  looked  much  as  usual,  save  for  a 
slight  paleness  under  the  tan,  scarcely  perceptible  in 
the  lamplight. 

"  I'll  keep  as  close  as  I  can.    And  look  here " 

"Well?" 

"  If  anything  should  happen  to  me — don't  you 
fool  trying  to  do  anything.  Go  on.  You  must  get 
through." 

Mrs.  Carter  looked  at  him.  There  was  nothing 
that  she  could  say. 

For  some  unexplained  reason  they  turned  and 
gripped  one  another's  hands  before  starting  down 
the  slope  to  the  marsh,  whither  they  were  followed 
by  the  loud  howlings  of  their  boys.  A  peculiar, 
booming  cry  rose  up  as  they  went,  dominating  all 
the  other  shrieks — the  Orokiva  death-song. 


328  GUINEA  GOLD 

"  For  delicate  tact  and  consideration  of  your  feel- 
in's  the  Papuan  takes  some  beatin',"  observed  Ru- 
pert dryly. 

They  were  at  the  borders  of  the  swamp  now:  the 
huge  marsh-ferns  rose  up  and  brushed  their  faces  as 
they  passed :  and  the  stiff  spikes  of  the  water-loving 
sago-palm  swung  low  above  them.  It  was  raining 
hard  and  very  dark:  the  hurricane  lantern  showed 
only  a  low  circle  of  muddy  track  and  rank  lush 
grasses,  poisonously  green. 

And  suddenly,  as  though  a  tap  had  been  turned 
on,  a  flood  of  sickening  scent  filled  the  air.  It  was 
warm  and  animal:  it  smelt  of  musk  and  of  decay. 
It  was  so  thick  that  you  felt  you  could  beat  it  apart 
with  your  hands.  There  was  no  sound  now  at  all. 
The  bellowing  had  ceased. 

The  track  went  down  into  the  marsh  here:  there 
was  no  more  solid  ground  in  front,  only  a  glimmer 
of  mud  and  water,  with  scaly  sago  trunks  and  clumps 
of  giant  spear-grass  looming  dimly  in  the  dark. 
Underfoot  a  narrow  path  of  felled  trees,  laid  length- 
wise for  economy's  sake,  stretched  out  into  the 
gloom. 

The  man  and  the  woman  stood  for  a  moment  on 
the  brink  of  the  swamp,  while  the  rain  pattered  in 
the  pools  and  hissed  on  the  lantern.  There  was  still 
no  sound.  The  darkness  was  thick  as  a  wall.  Only 
the  stifling  musky  scent,  with  its  hideous  suggestion 
of  a  perfumed  corpse,  grew  denser,  in  waves  that 
could  be  perceived. 


GUINEA  GOLD  329 

11  God  defend  us,  Mr.  Dence,"  said  Mrs.  Carter, 
in  a  low  voice,  "  but  I  think  they're  all  around." 
Her  hand  on  his  arm  gripped  him  so  tight  as  to 
bruise. 

"Will  you  go  back  and  wait  till  to-morrow?" 
asked  Rupert,  in  the  same  low  tone.  His  eyes,  blue 
fire  in  the  lantern-light,  pleading,  commanding,  gave 
the  lie  to  his  tongue. 

Mrs.  Carter  loosened  the  pistol  in  her  belt. 

44  No,"  she  said.  Rupert  could  see  that  her  nos- 
trils were  beating  like  a  heart.  She  took  the  lan- 
tern from  him  and  stepped  out  on  the  felled-log 
track. 

Just  for  an  instant  Rupert  paused  behind  her.  In 
the  dank  heat  of  the  night  something  like  a  wave  of 
cold  air,  a  waft  from  an  unseen  wing,  seemed  to  pass 
over  his  face. 

"  Purely  subjective,"  he  said  to  himself.  But  as 
he  set  foot  on  the  logs,  taking  what  they  both  well 
knew  to  be  the  post  of  danger  in  the  rear,  his  hand 
fluttered  for  a  moment  in  the  darkness,  making,  on 
brow  and  breast,  a  sign  that  had  not  rested  there  for 
many  a  year  .   .    .  the  sign  of  the  Cross. 

It  was  almost  an  hour's  journey  across  the  swamp, 
in  the  night  and  the  rain,  with  the  uncertain  footing 
given  by  the  slippery  logs.  The  circle  of  lantern- 
light  showed  only  the  perilous  track  and  the  oily 
glitter  of  mud  and  water  close  beside  it.  Twice  a 
droning  call  came  from  far  away:  once  the  sound 
rose  suddenly  at  their  feet,  and  seemed  to  shake  the 


330  GUINEA  GOLD 

logs  on  which  they  stood,  while  the  musky  smell  beat 
up  in  a  warm  wave  into  their  very  nostrils.  Rupert 
fired  his  revolver  at  the  sound,  but  there  was  no 
splash  or  movement,  and  nothing  to  be  seen.  They 
went  on.  Neither  spoke.  The  logs  tilted  and 
creaked  beneath  them  as  they  crept  along,  and  their 
feet  sucked  loud  in  the  gaps  between :  the  lantern 
clinked  as  it  swung:  their  breathing  sounded. 

They  were  near  the  other  side. 

"  O  God  in  heaven!  "  cried  Mrs.  Carter. 

The  roughly  laid  logs  swayed  down  and  tilted: 
mud  and  water  flowed  over  one  side  of  the  track. 
A  huge  grey  head,  with  cold  impassive  eyes,  had 
risen  like  a  phantom  of  death  from  the  slime,  open- 
ing a  gulf  of  white-toothed  jaw.  The  body  of  the 
creature,  invisible  under  mud,  bore  down  the  logs 
as  though  a  dray-horse  had  rested  its  weight  on 
them. 

Mrs.  Carter,  shrieking,  dashed  her  lantern  at  the 
horrible  head:  she  had  not  time  to  reach  for  her 
pistol.  Somehow,  in  the  momentary  withdrawal  of 
the  creature,  she  got  past,  on  the  sound  half  of  the 
track.  Then,  behind  her,  came  a  shot,  a  struggle, 
and  a  splash — no  cry. 

She  flung  round  again,  rushed  back,  pulling  out 
her  revolver,  and  fired  shot  after  shot  into  the  dark- 
ness. .  .  .  Rupert  Dence  was  gone.  Sobbing  with 
horror,  she  saw  the  mud  and  water  heaving  under 
the  lantern-light:  saw  a  deep  pool  near  at  hand  send 
out  dark  waves.     The  track  was  empty. 


GUINEA  GOLD  33 1 

"If  anything  should  happen  to  me,  don't  try  to 
do  anything.    You  must  get  through/' 

She  remembered. 

"  No  use,"  she  panted,  reloading  her  revolver, 
while  sobs  shook  her  from  head  to  foot.  "  A  regi- 
ment couldn't  save  him  now — but  if  he'd  only  called 
out  in  time.    .    .    .   He's  given  his  life,  as  sure  as 

ever Oh,  how  am  I  to Mary  Ann  Carter, 

don't  lose  your  head.  Don't  dare.  You  get 
through,  I  tell  you.  .  .  .  Confound  the  lock — that's 
it." 

Panting,  shaking,  beating  back  her  tears,  she  made 
the  last  piece  of  the  track,  and  climbed  up  on  the 
other  side.    Safe.    But  what  of  him? 

"  He  gave  his  life,"  she  said,  letting  the  tears  go 
at  last.  "  If  he'd  called  out  I  might  have  hit  the 
brute — but  he  wanted  me  to  get  clear  .  .  .  for 
her  .    .    ." 

The  rain  had  passed:  the  stars  shone  out.  The 
night  was  very  still. 

Mrs.  Carter  looked  up  to  the  arch  of  eternal 
splendour,  high  above  the  spiring  palms. 

"  If  ever  a  man  went  straight  to  heaven,  what- 
ever he's  been  or  done,  it's  Rupert  Dence,"  she  said. 

She  ceased  her  tears.  She  gathered  herself  to- 
gether. She  went  up  the  slope.  The  boys  and  the 
carrying-chair  were  waiting  on  the  top. 

Mrs.  Carter  was  widely  known  in  Papua  as  a 
nigger-driver.  She  had  never  earned  the  title  so 
fully  as  she  earned  it  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

It  was  one  of  New  Guinea's  diamond  days.  The 
river  dazzled  unbearably  down  at  the  foot  of  the 
cliff :  light  shot  in  spangles  from  the  points  of  forest 
leaves  that  stood  up  as  stark  as  foliage  of  cast  metal. 
It  seemed  as  though  no  roof,  no  shade,  were  dark 
enough  to  shut  away  the  sun.  Under  the  deep-hung 
palm  leaves  that  thatched  the  house  above  the  river 
it  came  this  burning  noon,  dropping  white-hot  pen- 
cils on  the  empty  lounge  and  deserted  work-table 
in  the  outer  room,  weaving  lattice  work-  of  molten 
silver  in  the  inner  chamber  round  the  borders  of  the 
carefully  guarded  shadow  that  lay,  all  day  and  all 
night,  about  Charmian's  bed. 

Charmian  was  lying  in  the  heart  of  the  shadow 
asleep.  Her  little  son  slept  in  a  white-hung  basket 
at  her  side.  Mrs.  Carter,  her  back  turned  to  the 
bed,  was  busying  herself,  somewhat  unnecessarily,  it 
seemed,  about  the  tidying  of  the  dresses  that  hung 
on  the  wall.  Beside  the  bed,  his  strong  brown  hand 
laid  very  lightly  on  the  flower-pale  fingers  that 
drooped  over  the  edge  of  the  sheet,  sat  Scott.  He 
had  been  there  since  early  morning:  it  was  now  near 
noon. 

"  George,  leave  her,  and  let  me  stop :  you've  never 
332 


GUINEA  GOLD  333 

had  a  bite  to  eat  to-day,"  said  the  figure  at  the  wall, 
somewhat  thickly,  without  turning  round. 

11  I  won't  leave,"  answered  Scott.  His  face  in 
the  last  two  days  had  grown  a  span  smaller:  his 
eyes  looked  out  of  dark  caves.  "  There'll  be  time 
for  everything  when   ..."     He  stopped. 

Mrs.  Carter,  her  face  curiously  wrinkled,  but  her 
eyes  dry,  turned  round  from  the  wall. 

"  George — don't  you  eat  your  heart  out,"  she 
said.  "  We  did  what  could  be  done.  If  all  the  doc- 
tors in  Sydney  had  been  here  it  would  have  been  the 
same." 

"  Brabant's  still  delirious.  He  was  a  hundred  and 
six  yesterday,"  was  Scott's  only  answer. 

"  Six,  or  six  hundred,  it  don't  matter,"  declared 
the  Queen.  She  crossed  the  room  and  looked  at  the 
sleeping  face.  The  eyes  were  ringed  with  violet: 
the  delicate  nose  stood  sharp  and  high.  "  Nothing 
matters,"  said  the  Queen. 

There  was  a  pause :  the  short,  quick  breathing  of 
the  child  sounded  in  the  quiet  room.  Charmian's 
breast  heaved  slowly,  silently. 

"Will  she  not  wake  up?"  asked  Scott,  keeping 
his  hungry  eyes  fixed  on  her  face.  The  minutes  for 
looking  on  that  face  were  numbered  now. 

"  No  telling.     She  might." 

They  sat  there  silently:  Mrs.  Carter's  fan  swept 
back  and  forward  over  the  brown-curling  head  on 
the  pillow.    A  minute — or  an  hour? — went  by. 

"  She  wasn't  made  for  long  life — anyhow,"  said 


334  GUINEA  GOLD 

Mrs.  Carter,  her  hand  laid  on  Scott's  head  as  on  a 
child's. 

"  She  had  her  day."    Another  pause. 

"  She  said  to  me,  just  after I  don't  know  as 

I  ought  to  tell  you." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Scott,  both  hands  now  clasped 
about  the  drooping  fingers  on  the  bed. 

"  She  said — '  I've  had  his  son — she  can't  do 
more.'  " 

11 1  never  knew  she  knew,"  said  Scott,  looking 
up,  startled.     "  I  never  told  her." 

The  room  was  still  again,  the  sun-rays  sank — 
sank  down.  The  day  was  waning.  No  need  to 
guard  the  shadow  round  the  bed:  it  deepened  as 
they  watched.  And  now  on  Charmian's  face  the 
shadow  deepened  too.  The  quiet  breathing  flut- 
tered: the  lips  dropped  apart.  Scott  saw  her  eyes 
were  open. 

"  My  love !  "  he  said,  his  face  close  to  hers. 
"  Charmian — are  you  awake?  " 

There  was  a  slight  struggle,  and  then — 

"  I'm  waking."    And,  very  faint,  "  Good-bye." 

They  sat  beside  her,  afterwards,  for  almost  an- 
other hour:  and,  in  the  gathering  shadows,  neither 
knew  when  Charmian  woke  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Anderson  handed  the  glass  to  his  friend. 

"  It's  Colombo  all  right,"  he  said. 

"  Colombo,"  agreed  Scott,  looking  out  to  the  blue 
horizon.  The  Macedonia  ploughed  steadily  across 
the  quiet  sea.  A  dark  line  was  steadily  growing  out 
on  the  edge  of  the  world.  Some  of  the  passengers, 
collected  on  the  promenade  deck,  were  quoting 
Kipling : 

"The  Indian  Ocean  sets  and  smiles 
So  sof,  so  bright,  so  bloomin'  blue, 
There  ain't  a  wave  for  miles  and  miles, 
Except  the  jiggle  of  the  screw." 

Others  were  murmuring  the  far  too  well-known 
hymn  that  celebrates  the  "  spicy  breezes  "  alleged  to 
11  roll  "  from  cinnamon  gardens  that  used  to  be,  and 
are  not.  The  deck  stewards,  hurrying  round  with 
trays  of  tinkling  glasses,  assumed  a  look  of  patient 
endurance.  Only  the  P.  &  O.  deck  stewards  them- 
selves can  tell  what  they  are  made  to  suffer,  through 
that  hymn — and  telling  is  naturally  impossible,  with 
the  fees  of  half  a  voyage  yet  ahead. 

Scott  felt  curiously  moved  at  the  sight  of  the 
growing  land.  It  was  the  Old  World's  first  out- 
post— the  first  returning  glimpse  of  the  lands  above 

335 


336  GUINEA  GOLD 

the  Line  that  he  had  left  two  years — could  it  only 
be  two  years? — before.  Now  the  last  link  with  the 
new,  unbroken  countries  was  left  behind:  he  had 
parted  from  Australasia.  ...  As  for  the  Red  Sea 
and  the  Mediterranean,  and  Marseilles-  and  "  Gib," 
they  were  next  thing  to  home. 

Much  interest  had  been  aroused  on  the  Macedonia 
by  these  two  passengers,  about  whom  no  one,  early 
in  the  voyage,  could  obtain  any  information.  It 
was  generally  supposed,  up  to  Perth,  that  they  were 
important  Colonial  dignitaries  travelling  incognito': 
afterwards  a  report  went  round  to  the  effect  that 
they  were  two  Russian  princes  in  disguise.  Their 
lack  of  interest  in  deck  sports,  and  their  total  indif- 
ference to  the  still  more  popular  sports  of  toad-eat- 
ing and  tuft-hunting,  encouraged  these  two  supposi- 
tions, and  laid  upon  them  the  necessity  of  repulsing  a 
good  many  unwelcome  acquaintances.  When  it  leaked 
out,  through  the  industrious  "  little  bird  "  inhabiting 
the  Marconi  mast  of  the  P.  &  O.  liner,  that  Ander- 
son and  Scott  were  two  miners  from  New  Guinea, 
who  had  found  a  fabulously  rich  gold  mine,  and 
were  off  to  spend  the  proceeds,  public  opinion  wav- 
ered. Had  they  enough  gold  to  gild  the  undoubted 
squalor  of  their  occupation?  Public  opinion,  helped 
by  the  little  bird,  decided  that  they  had.  The  ro- 
mantic possession  of  a  motherless  baby,  by  one  of 
the  mysterious  passengers,  turned  the  scale  still  fur- 
ther. The  stewardess  in  charge  of  little  Rupert  was 
interviewed,  coaxed,  and  bribed  to  tell  all  she  knew, 


GUINEA  GOLD  337 

and  a  great  deal  she  did  not.  In  the  end,  by  dint 
of  much  detective  work,  the  following  story  was 
unearthed  and  passed  about  the  ship : — 

Anderson  and  Scott  had  really  found  a  gold  mine, 
and  made  a  fortune  out  of  it.  Scott  was  going  home 
to  see  his  old  friends  in  Belfast,  and  live  there.  The 
baby  belonged  to  him:  his  wife  had  died  in  New 
Guinea.  Anderson  (of  whose  iron  self-possession 
and  cool  dry  humour  nobody  could  make  anything 
at  all — except  that  he  really  "  must  be  somebody  ") 
— Anderson  was  going  for  a  tour  round  the  world. 
The  two  had  had  the  wildest  adventures :  you  could- 
n't fancy  (which  was  quite  true).  Some  of  their 
gold — ten  thousand  pounds,  it  was  said — had  been 
stolen  from  them,  and  the  man  who  stole  it  had 
never  been  found  till  ages  and  ages  after.  The  little 
bird,  at  the  last  Australian  port,  was  able  to  supple- 
ment its  chirpings  on  this  subject  by  the  plain  narra- 
tive of  a  local  newspaper,  which  gave  a  vivid  ac- 
count of  the  finding  of  the  gold: — 

11  EXCITING  INCIDENT  IN  PAPUA. 

miner's  lost  gold  recovered, 
how  the  thief  met  his  doom. 

11  Our  Port  Moresby  correspondent,  by  the  last 
mail,  sends  an  interesting  and  exciting  account  of  a 
strange  adventure  in  the  unexplored  wilds  of  Papua. 
Some  weeks  ago,  a  party  of  miners,  prospecting  in 
unknown  country  about  the  Kikiramu  field,  came 
unexpectedly  upon  a  village  of  the  Kariva  tribe, 
which  was  evidently  inhabited,  but  which  had  been 


338  GUINEA  GOLD 

deserted  on  the  arrival  of  the  party.  Fires  were 
still  burning  in  the  houses,  and  freshly  chewed  betel- 
nut  had  been  expectorated  about  the  track,  showing 
that  the  Karivas  were,  in  all  probability,  concealed 
close  at  hand.  The  miners  explored  the  village,  and 
found  among  other  trophies,  in  the  usual  cannibal 
temple,  the  unmistakable  skull  of  a  white  man.  It 
had  been  broken  in  at  the  top,  the  Kariva  tribe  being 
in  the  habit  of  extracting  the  brains  and  eating 
them  fried  in  the  top  of  the  skull.  The  teeth  were 
stopped  with  gold;  this,  together  with  the  general 
shape  of  the  skull,  serving  to  identify  it  as  that  of 
a  prospector  named  Clay,  who  had  been  missing  for 
the  better  part  of  a  year. 

"  In  the  bush  close  to  the  village  the  miners  found 
a  heavy  parcel  of  canvas,  part  rotted  away,  and  con- 
taining over  eight  hundred  ounces  of  gold.  It  ap- 
peared that  the  Karivas  had  opened  the  parcel,  and 
finding  in  it  no  knives,  tomahawks,  or  other  article 
of  any  value  to  them,  had  thrown  it  away  in  the  bush, 
where  it  lay  untouched  until  found. 

"  This  gold  had  been  stolen  from  one  of  the  dis- 
coverers of  the  notorious  Iri  field,  many  months  be- 
fore. It  was  at  once  restored  to  its  rightful  owner, 
and  the  skull  buried  in  the  Kikiramu  camp.  So 
ends  one  of  New  Guinea's  many  mysteries." 

Anderson  and  Scott  themselves  had  seen  the  paper 
at  Perth,  and  were  looking  over  it  again  as  the 
Macedonia  made  her  way  towards  Point  de  Galle. 

"  Substantially  correct,"  said  Scott,  folding  up  the 
scrap  and  putting  it  in  his  pocket.  "  Joe,  I  can't 
believe  it  all  happened  now.  It  seems  like  a  yarn 
that  someone  else  has  told  me.    Only  for " 


GUINEA  GOLD  339 

He  broke  off  and  looked  out  across  the  sea. 
Anderson  knew  how  to  read  the  look.  In  the  last 
six  months  the  boyishness  had  disappeared  from  his 
comrade's  face  for  good:  and  a  certain  shadow,  dat- 
ing from  the  days  on  the  Iri  River,  had  made  its 
home  in  his  eyes.  Scott  was  "  still  young,"  but  he 
was  no  longer  a  "  young  man." 

"  I  don't  believe  much  of  it  myself,"  agreed  An- 
derson thoughtfully. 

They  were  left  to  themselves  now:  the  passengers 
had  gone  away  in  a  crowd  to  watch  the  Bishop 
of  Negropolis  hopping  on  one  leg  along  the 
deck,  and  endeavouring  to  pick  up  more  potatoes 
with  a  spoon  than  the  wife  of  the  Governor  of 
British  Chili  had  already  been  happy  enough  to 
secure. 

44  I  shall  be  home  in  three  weeks,"  said  Scott. 
"  Joe — you  remember " 

"What?" 

"What  I  told  you,  that  night  we  left  Port 
Moresby." 

14  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  the  big  miner,  standing 
up  against  the  rail,  his  hands  hanging  down  at  his 
sides.  Anderson  had  no  nervous  tricks — Scott  used 
often  to  wonder  how  he  could  keep  so  still  for  so 
long. 

44  I've  been  thinking  it  all  over,  again  and  again. 
You  know,  my  letter  missed  her — I've  found  that 
out  since — and  she  never  really  knew  anything  ex- 
cept that  I'd  been  up  country  for  a  long  while,  and 


340  GUINEA  GOLD 

got  out  of  reach  of  mails:  she  thought  me  dead,  I 
believe. " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  am  going  to  see  her  the  minute  I  get  to  Ire- 
land.    I  mean  to  tell  her  everything." 

"  And  then  what  will  you  do?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

But  some  years  after,  when  his  little  daughter  was 
first  laid  in  his  arms,  he  remembered  the  all  but  last 
words  spoken  to  Mrs.  Carter  by  Charmian,  and 
knew  that  she,  at  least,  had  known. 

The  Scotts  have  a  beautiful  country  house,  not 
very  far  from  Balmoral,  on  the  Lisburn  Road. 
There  are  leather  chairs  in  the  dining-room,  and 
velvet  chairs  in  the  drawing-room,  and  there  are  con- 
servatories, and  a  motor  garage,  and  a  stable,  with 
one  or  two  good  saddle  horses.  Scott  has  a  small 
yacht  with  a  motor,  and  uses  it  in  the  summer-time. 
Janie  has  carriages  and  furs,  and  more  than  one 
solid  silver  tea-set.  They  agree  excellently  well; 
Scott  is  growing  a  little  stout,  and  thinks  of  standing 
for  Parliament  one  of  these  days. 

Janie  is  a  just  and  kindly  stepmother.  The  toys 
of  her  little  girls  are  never  better  than  Rupert's, 
and  she  always  remembers  to  kiss  him  every  night, 
and  to  call  him  dear.  Sometimes,  when  she  sees  his 
father  holding  him  nursed  in  his  arms  of  an  evening, 
looking  at  the  honey-brown  eyes  and  scarlet  lips  of 
the  child  as  a  man  may  look  at  the  picture  of  some- 


GUINEA  GOLD  341 

thing  loved  and  lost,  she  goes  away  to  her  own 
room  and  sorts  linen  determinedly,  with  a  hard-set 
lip.  She  does  not  believe  in  crying.  Sometimes,  too, 
when  Scott  takes  one  of  his  rare  fits  of  restlessness, 
and  disappears  for  a  week  at  a  time,  flying  down 
the  Channel  on  his  yacht — southward,  always  to- 
wards the  sun — she  feels  a  strange  fear  creep  about 
her  heart.  But  she  does  not  believe  in  worrying: 
there  are  the  children,  and  there  is  Duty. 

By  the  Iri  River  the  grass  grows  over  Charmian. 


THE  END 


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